Unconquered
by Denial and Deception
Summary: “Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.” After 10 years of darkness—of saving lives while taking others—can anyone save the Boy-Who-Lived? AU Post-HBP, Dark!Harry, Independent!Harry,HPGW, HGRW, Rated for violence.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.

Summary: "Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." After 10 years of darkness—of saving lives while taking others—can anyone save the Boy-Who-Lived? AU Post-HBP, Dark!Harry, Independent!Harry, eventual angsty HPGW, HGRW, Rated for violence.

Author's Note: This is my "Harry disappears for a long time"-story. Been done before, sure, but I like to think I took an interesting angle on it. Also, I got sick and tired of reading Badass!Harry stories that came up short in my own humble opinion. I don't know—it could be crap. If it is, stop reading. If you like it, I adore reviews.

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Prologue: Cold…

April 5, 1998

A cold wind swept through the lush green hills and valleys of the Highlands on the island of Skye. The sun was setting, but it made little difference on the grey, overcast day.

Two Land Rovers stood parked to the side of a road. A group of men stood a hundred yards away on the hillside. One of them was digging.

Three of them were huddled together. They seemed perfectly calm as they looked out over the countryside in all directions. One had a pair of binoculars.

The other two were twenty feet away. They were young…too young. Sobs matched the sound of the shovel piercing the dark earth.

The digging stopped. "Please…p-please…," the teen sputtered through the tears and the snot. "I…I can't…"

"Shut up." It was not a shout, but a simple, sharp command.

"_Please_!" the teen's cry was desperate; his voice high pitched. "Just let…just let me…I'm…I'm s-_sorry_!" His sobs were hitching his voice.

"I said shut up and keep digging." No emotion. The eyes were cold, teeth unclenched. His grip on the pistol in his right hand tightened, however.

The sobbing teen looked up into those cold eyes; that emotionless face before his head fell in silent resignation. He continued digging as his crying lessened.

The standing teen could hear the voices of the men off by the way. He heard one of them laughing. A sudden feeling of shame washed over him but he quickly stuffed it away. He stuffed it back behind his façade of calmness; this emotionless mask that he wore.

The hole was big enough. It was time.

"That's enough."

The crying stopped immediately as the boy froze solid, his gasp audible.

"Get on your knees." There was a slight tremor in the voice now; a hint that his heart rate had jumped. His hands shook ever so slightly and he had to adjust his stance to accommodate the adrenalin dump in his legs.

The boy stood solid in his own grave. Finally, he let out a long breath before he let his shoulders drop and the shovel fall from his hands.

"Do…do you have my letter?" the condemned asked carefully.

"I'll make sure she gets it." The tremor was growing. "Now get on your knees!" The command was more forceful.

He didn't kneel. He turned around to face his executioner; tears and snot adorning his face. His pupils were dilated.

"No…" he said, a hint of defiance in his voice.

The pistol was raised. "Turn around and get on your knees!" Anger now laced the boy's speech. He heard one of the other men clear their throat. He could feel their eyes on him. He looked into the eyes of his victim with no sympathy, no sadness; just a low, burning rage.

"_No_!" cried out the condemned. "If…if you're gonna…_if you're gonna do this then you have to look me in the eye_!" He was drawing strength from his defiance. He pointed his finger at his executioner. This was his last chance.

The pistol remained raised. The expression of the executioner remained unchanged, but he said nothing; waiting.

The defiance broke into an expression of desperation. "He told me he could bring them _back_…" His eyes were pleading. "_He told me he could bring them back_!" he shouted.

Tears brimmed in the eyes of the executioner, but the pistol did not lower.

The boy shook his head and looked down, blinking away tears. He took a heavy breath before he looked back up into the eyes of his killer; the defiance returned. "What would you have done? _Huh_!?!" His finger pointed. "_WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE, HARRY_!?!"

Tears leaked from Harry's eyes as he looked down and turned away. He took a deep breath before a darkness fell over his eyes.

"Not what you did, Neville," he said as he took two steps.

Neville crumpled down in the grave into a fetal position, his hands over his head; "NoHarrypleasenoNOOO!!"

The pistol fired, but Harry didn't hear it. He did feel the recoil, and he did hear Neville's cry of pain, utter panic, and fear. Harry fired the pistol twice more before he couldn't hear Neville's cries anymore.

Then he fired five more times before his hand shook so badly that the rounds began to impact in the dirt around Neville's body.

Harry let out the breath he was holding heavily. He then looked up and blinked away a few tears before moving forward and descending into the grave of his one-time friend.

He pulled Neville's bleeding left arm away from his face; it was turned down into his right arm and the dirt so he couldn't really see it. Harry could tell that he was probably dead, but they had to be sure.

He now took a two-handed grip and pointed the Browning right behind Neville's ear. He remembered not to press the pistol against his target because he knew the contact could push the slide out of battery. He had been trained well.

One final report of a gunshot resounded through the hills; the cold wind seemed to carry it farther.

Harry stumbled out of the grave before he doubled over and vomited. He could still smell the shit in Neville's pants.

He heard the three other men approaching. One of them mumbled something and Harry could hear the dirt falling back into the grave; over his friend.

"You okay, Harry?" asked a man just behind him.

Harry was breathing heavily; his eyes closed. He seemed to wince once before his eyes flew open and he stood tall. He ejected the partially spent magazine from the Browning and shoved in it his pocket before he took out a fresh magazine and slapped it home, giving it a quick tap to be sure. He engaged the safety and shoved it back into his holster.

Harry sniffed once before he nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

* * *

Author's Note: I know, I know; that's some cold shit.

This is the Harry story I've always wanted to write. It will be incredibly dark, very realistic, and incredibly violent. But don't worry, this isn't just some mindless portrayal of psychopathic violence (I have "TDK" for that), I really do have a story to tell here.

To my TDK fans, I'm sorry. I'm well and truly sorry. I still work on it, but I just get hung up in the language a lot and I have to walk away from it. I do know where I want to take it, though, so don't think it's abandoned. But I just couldn't get this one out of my head.


	2. Forgiveness

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.

Author's Note: I bet some of you are curious as to what the hell that was all about. I promise you'll figure it all out eventually.

* * *

Chapter 1: Forgiveness…

July 7, 2008

To anyone else, Spinner's End was a ghost town. Every single house along this dark, dilapidated street was boarded up and shut-in. With no work in the area, sitting in the shadow of an old, industrial chimney and lying near a dirty, rubbish laden river; one could hardly blame the residents for leaving.

But the two individuals sitting in the Range Rover that had parked at the very end of the cobble street knew that there was still one occupied house on Spinner's End; and it just so happened that they were two of only a handful of people that knew where it was; let alone could actually see it.

In the passenger-seat sat "the Boy-Who-Lived"; the "Chosen One" in the flesh. At a soon-to-be age of 28, Harry Potter could have passed for a man in his mid-forties. His once raven-black hair was now a dark grey that matched the short-trimmed beard on his face. The scar on his forehead had faded, but one or two others had since joined it. To anyone that had known him in the past; they would have noticed his eyes. Where once they had been a bright emerald green that lit up behind a pair of glasses in fascination and wonder at a world he had so embraced; they now looked lifeless; a cold, dark green that seemed to stare on for miles, no glasses needed.

"D'you want me to come in with you?" asked Mike as he cut the engine.

Harry looked down at the long, brown paper bag that held the shape of a bottle in his lap. "No, we'll be alright," he said quietly, almost to himself. He then brought his left hand over to pull up the right side of his grey collared fleece sweatshirt to expose the butt of his favorite custom 1911. He unholstered it with his right hand and performed a quick press-check on the slide to ensure a round was in the chamber. Seeing that there was; he reholstered it into his blue jeans. He then gave a quick, hard snap to his right wrist. A very familiar 11-inch, holly and phoenix feather wand was now held by Harry's thumb, index, and middle fingers. He looked at it for a moment before letting go of it, feeling it slide back down into its enchanted sheath on his arm.

Mike chuckled slightly: "You don't trust anybody, do you?"

Harry gave a quick pat to his right front pocket feeling his folding knife and set of emergency portkeys; and another to his left front pocket to feel his little .38 Special snubbie.

"I once knew a guy that loved to tell people that he didn't trust anyone except his mother, and that he wasn't too sure about her," Harry said as he turned off both of his cell phones. The _Fidelius _would screw with their signals. Harry turned to look at Mike directly: "I don't have a mother."

Mike smiled and shook his head: "Whatever you say, mate."

Harry looked over at the last house on Spinner's End. Through the curtains, Harry could see a dim light glimmering in the downstairs room. "You gonna be okay out here by yourself?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Mike said quickly as he reached into the backseat for something. "I have reading to catch up on." He held up the book so that Harry could read its cover.

Harry saw the cover and rolled his eyes: "I don't know why you read that shit," he all but muttered, shaking his head.

"Come on!" Mike said with a laugh in his voice. "This is good stuff!" He quickly opened the book to a random page. "Don't you want to read about how you…" he trailed off as he was reading, but soon was shaking with laughter: "how you _traded dimensions with an alternate form of yourself_?!?" He started howling.

Harry shook his head again, but a smile did just slightly tug at the corner of his lips; not so much because of what Mike had read, but more from how much amusement Mike seemed to be having.

Harry looked back over at the cover of the book: "WHAT _REALLY_ might have HAPPENED IN THE SECOND WIZARDING WAR" it read in garish red letters. Apparently it was a collection of essays that had been edited by Rita Skeeter of all people. She already had two books out on the subject herself. There seemed to be no end to the woman's ability to exploit people's misconceptions, fears, or curiosities. Harry couldn't believe that after ten years Flourish and Blotts' top selling books were still conspiracy theories about him and what had happened.

Then again, if he ever admitted to himself, it _was_ a pretty good mystery.

"Oh, man, Harry," Mike said as his laughter was dying down. "If it wasn't for that fucking Vow I could be making serious galleons off of all of this," he said as he continued to flip pages. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he said in an exasperated tone, "one of these guys actually claims he was an Unspeakable during the war and knows everything!"

"Hmm," Harry said a little uninterested, "I suppose he fails to mention the fact that if that was true, he'd already be dead for committing any of it to paper."

"Nah, I think he left that part out," Mike said as he continued reading. "Jesus," he said incredulously, "he's actually giving credit to Scrimgeour!" At this point Mike was actually yelling at the book: "_He didn't even want us deployed, you fucking tosser_!"

"Listen, I'm gonna head in," he said interrupting Mike's rant, "are you sure you're okay out here?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, mate! Enjoy yourself!" he said motioning with his right hand.

"Unlikely," Harry said more to himself. He then took a deep breath and opened the passenger side door; the brown-paper clad bottle clutched by his right hand. Before he closed it, he leaned back down to look in at Mike: "If anything happens--,"

"--you'll turn into a _basilisk and kill them with your death stare_!" Mike read out from the book with laughter.

Harry just shook his head again and slammed the door closed.

The knock on the door was firm but not intimidating, suggesting a formal rather than friendly house-call. Harry waited on the step for a moment, breathing in the stink of the nearby river through his nose. He had smelled worse.

Harry heard ruffling sounds coming from inside. He had expected the door to open just a crack. He had expected to see the thin silhouette of a man in dark robes peering out at him suspiciously. What happened instead surprised him to say the least. The door opened widely revealing a woman in red robes. Harry's mouth fell open in shock.

She eyed Harry but smiled nonetheless. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, I--," Harry wanted to say that he must have had the wrong house, but he knew that wasn't true. "Sorry," he stammered. He then took a closer look at the woman. "Professor Vector?" he asked hesitantly.

The smile on the long-haired, dark red-head grew broadly. "Actually it's Snape now," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline.

Septima's brow furrowed: "Were you one of my students?" she asked curiously. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend, it's just that you seem a little old--,"

"Who is it, Sept?" asked the cool voice of one Severus Snape minus its traditional drawl. He came up behind her and eyed Harry suspiciously. It was obvious he was hiding his wand behind her back. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" he asked as he continued to eye Harry with caution.

The shock on Harry's face fell away into an incredulous, lop-sided smile as Harry gave a soft laugh and shook his head. He looked into the eyes of his former Potions professor: "Has it really been that long, Snape?"

Severus' eyes showed only the briefest moment of confusion before they opened wide in shocked comprehension. Everyone heard his wand clatter loudly as it fell on the hardwood floor of his home. His jaw dropped but bobbed as if he wished to say something but couldn't.

Harry's left hand buried itself into his left front pocket. It would appear to be an innocuous enough act to anyone else, but Harry was in reality getting a grip on his snubbie revolver.

"Sev?" asked Septima as she turned and looked at him with concern. "Severus, are you alright?" Her worry showed in her voice.

Sev was breathing heavily now and his face had gone paler than usual (which was saying something). "Sept, would you excuse us, please?" Snape managed to choke out in a rush.

"Sev, is something--,"

"_Please_!" he cut her off in desperation. He gave her an earnest, desperate look to know that he meant it.

Septima turned back to look a Harry, an expression of fear in her eyes now. She gave him a once over before she looked back at Severus: "I'll just be in the kitchen," she said quickly before she retreated. Harry knew perfectly well that's where her wand currently lay.

Once she had gone, Severus turned back to look at Harry. Suddenly his shoulders dropped and he exhaled an immense breath. His head dropped as well as he looked away. He took another big breath before he brought his gaze back up to Harry's. There was a quiet resignation in his expression, almost as if he knew this day would come.

"Is today that day, Harry?" Severus asked. There was a tremor of fear in his voice, but also a flicker of something else: relief.

Harry's expression hardened; the smile faded. He looked directly into Snape's eyes. Eyes he had once feared so much. _Oh, how the tables have turned_, he thought to himself. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if _that day _was indeed today.

He breathed out heavily through his nose as he retracted his left hand from his pocket. He used it to pull the bag off of the bottle; exposing a 12-year old Ogden's Finest Reserve.

Snape just looked at the bottle, his expression now confused. He looked back at Harry.

"No, Severus," he said simply, a small fake smile on his lips. "Not today."

Severus breathed out heavily before taking a few more steadying breaths. He seemed to shudder ever so slightly as he did so. He looked away from Harry and had to blink a few times. As he looked down, he noticed his wand still lay on the floor; he bent over and picked it up before restoring it to a small sheath inside his robes. He looked back at Harry.

Whatever calm that had settled over Severus was quickly shattered when two quick car horn blasts resounded through the air. He fumbled for his wand a bit before he saw Mike waving enthusiastically as he hung outside the driver's side door of the Range Rover.

"OY, SEVVIE!" shouted Mike excitedly. "HOW YA BEEN, MATE?" there was a tremor approaching laughter in his voice.

Septima was back at the door in flash, her wand held like a saber in her hand, a blind sort of panic in her eyes. Before she could say or do anything in her mania, Severus managed to catch her and wrap an arm soothingly around her shoulders. "It's alright," he whispered, "it's alright."

"HOLY BUGGERING SHIT!" shouted Mike from the SUV. "SEV IS THAT A _GIRL_ IN YOUR HOUSE?!?"

Harry decided enough fun had been had at Snape's expense. He turned back to Mike: "WEREN'T YOU READING?!?" he shouted, a little tinge of anger in his voice.

"I WAS!" Mike shouted back defensively. "DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU TURN OUT TO BE _GAY_ IN MOST--,"

"JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND WATCH THE CAR!" Harry shouted angrily. He was fully acquainted with those particular theories, thank you.

"ALRIGHT, KEEP YOUR HAIR ON!" Mike shouted back with a smile on his face. He gave all of them a wink before he ducked back inside the vehicle.

Harry turned back around as he rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry about him," he said to the couple that was currently clutching each other in fear. "He can be a bit much."

"_Just-who-the-hell-are-you-and-what-do-you-want_?" Septima managed to squeak out rather quickly. She was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. Harry felt a flicker of guilt. He understood why she was so panicked. She must have been expecting an attack from former Death Eaters for some time now. He noted how tightly she clutched her wand in her hand, even as it was wrapped around Snape.

"It's alright, dear," Severus reassured her. "They're not Death Eaters. It's okay."

As the panic slowly left her eyes, she realized the ridiculousness of her fears. This man was wearing a sweatshirt and blue jeans while being chauffeured around in a _car_ of all things. Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. "Sorry," she said quickly.

Harry just smiled slightly: "It's alright. I apologize for coming by unannounced," he said before he caught eyes with Snape once again. "But I do need to have a word with Severus if that will be alright."

Severus caught the look in Harry's eye before he nodded and turned away. He looked at Septima: "Sept, dear, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind retiring early," he said in a pleasant voice, "I promise we won't be long."

Septima now eyed both of the men suspiciously, but nodded her head nevertheless. She still seemed a little discombobulated. "Al…alright," she said hesitantly and nodded slightly. She turned back to Harry: "It…it was nice to meet you…" she eyed him as if this was the moment where he was supposed to tell her his name.

Harry only smiled, but it didn't go to his eyes.

Sept seemed a little thrown by this: "…sir," she finished lamely. She gave Severus a look that seemed to scream, '_We'll talk about this later_!' before she made her way back inside and up the stairs behind the hidden door in the study.

Snape sighed and turned back to Harry: "I'm assuming you'd like a glass for that," he said motioning to the bottle in Harry's hand.

"Oh, don't worry," Harry said with a smirk, "you can have one, too."

After a few moments of shuffling about and clinking of glasses, both men found themselves sitting in front of the fireplace in Snape's study.

Snape took a long, hard drink from his highball and winced at the burn. "So, Mr. Potter," he said after blowing out a heavy breathe, "not that I don't enjoy the occasional unexpected visit, but to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?" He sat rigidly; hands fidgeting.

Harry took a drink himself but swallowed easily. "I suppose I've been out of the loop for awhile now?" he said as he nodded his head to the hidden door; obviously referring to Septima.

Severus nodded his head and smiled slightly: "A lot happens in ten years, Potter," he said as he shifted slightly. "Seven knows about her before you ask."

"I wasn't going to," Harry said easily, "Seven knows about everything…" he paused to take another long drink, finishing his first glass, "including your recent job proposition."

Severus sighed and let his head drop. "I wasn't expecting this till tomorrow," he said as he adjusted himself. "Let me guess, this is where you tell me—in no uncertain terms—that leaving the care and comfort of my service to Seven would be a rather poor decision on my part," Severus said expectantly.

"On the contrary," Harry said as he poured himself another glass, "we're encouraging you to leave."

Snape nearly spluttered in his drink before he turned back to Harry: "I beg your pardon!"

"Haven't you done that enough?" Harry said as he gave Snape a cold glare.

Snape held Harry's gaze before he looked away in recognition; in shame.

Harry turned back to his drink: "Seven is taking a more direct interest in the youth of wizarding Britain," Harry said easily; ignoring the previous brief moment of tension. "We need more people on the inside." Harry took another drink. "Plus, you'll make an excellent lightning rod for the Seekers attention," he said with a smile.

Snape felt a shiver but he nodded in resignation. "I understand they've become more of a problem as of late," he said finishing off his glass.

"It was to be expected," Harry said staring into the fire. "The sad children of yesterday are the angry adults of today." His eyes were beginning to go a little glassy as he held his second empty glass. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey before instantly reaching for the bottle again.

Snape hesitated a moment. "I don't suppose any thought has ever been given to actually telling them--,"

He was cut off by Harry's laughter. "What good would it do?" he said. "It wouldn't change anything." Harry's eyes were now fixed on the fire.

Snape grimaced with an unconvinced expression. "It might give them peace of mind…closure--,"

Harry laughed again. "For ten years I lived happily believing my parents died in car crash before I knew differently," he said before he took another drink. "The truth…" his focus seemed to wonder, "the truth only made my life a nightmare." He paused for another moment before he looked back over at Snape; a fake smile plastered over his face: "If you ask me, they're better off not knowing."

Snape held Harry's gaze: "Better off for them or better off for us?" he asked daringly.

Harry's fake smile faded and he looked away. He sighed and shook his head: "We're all better off," he said before taking another drink.

Snape nodded his head reluctantly. The two sat in silence for awhile, slowly finishing off the bottle. At one point, Snape's passive, thoughtful expression switched to one of confusion as he looked over at Harry. "I didn't think you were working for Seven anymore," he asked cautiously. "I remember hearing something about you and some of the others starting your own company--,"

"Contract work," Harry said quickly. "Manpower problems being what they are…" Harry trailed off and took another drink.

"I see," Snape said before a smile crossed his face, "so this is contract work?" he asked as he gestured to the drinks in his and Harry's hands.

Harry smiled slightly: "This is a favor, actually," he said taking the last sip from his third. "I was in town and—I don't know," he said shrugging, "I suppose they wanted it to be someone from back in the day." Harry poured his fourth. He offered the bottle to Snape who poured one himself.

Snape nodded in acknowledgment. "Well, then," he took a sip and crossed his legs, "how's business?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief: "Off the charts," he said with a new glimmer in his eyes. "In the beginning we were doing most of our work for either Seven or the ICW, but in recent years we've been able to do contracts for the private sector, as well." His enthusiasm was up, but the alcohol had begun to slur his speech ever so slightly.

"Is there much demand for that kind of work?" Snape asked genuinely interested.

"You'd be surprised," Harry said raising his eyebrows. "Plus we do work for muggle companies, too."

This shocked Snape to say the least. "How in the world do you get around the Statute of Secrecy?"

"It's an arrangement we have with the ICW," Harry explained waving his hand, "it involves a lot of enchanted contracts, memory alterations—it gets pretty technical," Harry said making a face. "I'm not really involved in much of the top-level decision-making anymore. I'm still majority shareholder, but I let the guys in monkey-suits handle most of the bullshit." Harry took another drink. His eyes were now completely glassed over.

"I imagine you travel a lot?" Snape asked with a smile.

Harry groaned: "If I never have to get on a plane or take a portkey again for the rest of my life, I'll die a happy man," he said shaking his head. "You know I've done work on every continent except Antarctica?" he said eyeing Snape.

Snape laughed lightly, "Well, I suppose if the penguins give anyone a spot of bother you'd be there eventually," he said with a smile.

Harry gave a small laugh and a fake smile: "Yeah, well," he said looking into the fire, "somebody's gotta do it."

A very cold feeling gripped Snape's chest as he looked at Harry now. For the first time since Harry had arrived, Snape really looked at him. He had been surprised by his appearance earlier to say the least, but he had never taken the time to actually consider it. Harry looked tired. Harry looked old. His hair was graying at 28. His face looked worn and beaten not just by hexes and punches, but also by the sun and exposure to the elements. Harry—for lack of a better phrase—looked like hell. Snape looked at Harry's eyes and—with a feeling of utter regret and loss—realized they no longer looked like Lily's.

"How many more wars do you intend to fight, Potter?" he asked; genuine sympathy in his voice.

Potter shot Snape the coldest glare he could muster before he had to look away. "It's the only thing I know how to do." Harry stared off into the fire, looking through it.

Snape waited a few moments, giving Harry a second to think. "You know," he began cautiously, "Slughorn isn't the only one who's leaving…"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he looked back over at his former teacher: "Wow, Snape," he said incredulously, "who knew you had developed a sense of humor in those ten years?"

"You said yourself that Seven was looking to infiltrate people into the educational system," he said, tilting his head forward to emphasize his point.

"Yeah, well, they can send somebody else for that particular assignment," Harry said taking another drink. "And besides, don't you remember how _ridiculous_ the curriculum was there?" Harry said with a look of disgust on his face. "Honestly, I'm surprised how any Hogwarts graduate survives more than _ten minutes_ in the real world. I mean for _fuck's sake_," he said jerking his arm hard enough that some of his whiskey spilled, "just look at the fucking _aurors_! Bloody useless; the lot of them!"

"Maybe it's time for that to change," Snape said turning Harry's argument against him.

"With what's coming, maybe it is…" Harry muttered to himself.

"What do you mean by that?" Snape asked curiously.

Harry seemed to wince and shook his head: "Forget I said anything," he said dismissively.

They sat in silence for some more time before Snape decided to go for broke: "Maybe it's just time for you to come home, Potter," he suggested carefully.

"Oh yeah?" Harry snorted. "Where's that?"

Snape sighed heavily and looked down: "I do understand your reasons for not coming back, Potter," he closed his eyes and shook his head, "_believe _me I _really _do. But you can't keep doing this forever," he said looking back up at him. "Eventually you're supposed to come home, not go _looking_ for another way to get yourself killed."

"You don't get it, do you?" Harry said; his anger building. "I don't _have_ a home to come back to!" The alcohol was allowing some of his vulnerability to show.

Snape just gave Harry a look, a look that said, '_Do I really have to say it out loud_.'

Harry pounded the rest of his glass: "I don't know those people anymore," he said as he poured yet another drink. The bottle was nearly gone. "And they _sure-as-hell_ don't know me."

"Be that as it may," Snape said trying to get Harry to focus, even though he knew Harry was probably slipping away with the alcohol, "I'm sure they want to know what happened to their friend."

Harry gave a dubious laugh: "Do you _honestly_ expect me to tell them what happened?" Harry asked as if it was the dumbest question in the world.

"Not at all," Snape quickly answered, "but I would expect you to do them the honor of at least reassuring them that you are alive and well, at the very least," he said rather quickly. "God knows I've had to deal with their constant interrogations ever since you went under." A pain showed through Snape's expression; a tired sort of pain.

Harry flicked his right wrist in a dismissive sort of manner as he took another drink from the glass clutched tightly in his left hand. He closed his eyes and tried to relish in the soothing burn in his throat. "What the hell would I even say to them…" he said more to himself as he stared down into the amber liquid.

"Why not start with a 'Hello'?" Snape suggested almost playfully, hoping Harry's inebriation would loosen some of his restraints.

Harry seemed to stare off into space some more. It was obvious he was no longer focused on any of the activity inside the room. "I don't even remember myself," he said quietly.

Snape was thrown by this: "I'm sorry?" he asked softly.

"I don't remember," Harry began as he gazed into the fire, "I don't remember _anything_…" he trailed off for just a moment. "Sure, I remember who I was and who they were, but…" he trailed off again, "it's like I can't remember any particular moment…" he almost mumbled. "It's like it was all just some _story_…"

Snape sighed heavily in exasperation. It was obvious Harry had drank too much. "Well, it wasn't just a story for them, Harry," he said in a dismissive tone.

"Do you remember Portsmouth?" Harry asked suddenly.

All of the color drained from Snape's face as he froze solid. His heart rate shot up and his pupils dilated. Yes, he remembered Portsmouth. His knuckles cracked as he squeezed his fists; willing images from his mind.

_Clear your mind_, Severus said to himself as he took in another deep breath and closed his eyes, _just clear your mind_. _Discipline_. _Focus_.

"I see their faces," Harry said quietly to himself as he continued to stare into the fire; his eyes glassy. "_I see their eyes_…" he whispered

Snape took a shuddering breath before he exhaled and looked over at Harry: "I'll never understand why you chose to keep those memories," he said in a hushed voice.

Harry was speaking in monotone at this point, tears streaking down his face: "I was afraid…" he hesitated as he burped from the whiskey, more tears came, "I was afraid I would do it again if I forgot…" The bottle was now entirely empty. "I dream about them, too…" Harry said in a daze.

"_Alcohol_ hardly assists our occlumency abilities, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a scolding tone.

"I don't drink," Harry responded immediately just as he took another sip from his glass.

Snape found it hard to fight the hypocrisy of the moment.

"Do you think she'll forgive us?" Harry asked suddenly.

Snape was completely thrown: "_What_?" he asked loudly in confusion.

"My mother…" Harry said simply, his glassy-eyed gaze still transfixed on the fire. "Do you think she'll forgive us for what we've done?"

It was as if someone had asked Severus to give a dispassionate judgment of both their lives, from beginning to end. He knew the answer about himself immediately; he only had to remember one image of Portsmouth to be sure about Harry.

Their judgment lasted three seconds.

"No…" Severus said quietly.

A small smile graced Harry's lips but his eyes remained glassy and unfocused on the fire.

"I didn't think so…" he spoke softly, a few tears brimming.

Snape suddenly knelt at the side of Harry's chair, looking up at him intensely: "Even it up," he said with emotion in his voice.

Harry seemed to be drifting away, his eyelids heavy; his cheeks wet.

"Harry!" Snape tried to get his attention.

His eyes opened slightly and focused on Severus.

"Even it up," he said again, "do just a little more good…" he trailed off looking away before he turned back to Harry: "…while you still have time."

Harry, through his drunken haze, through his glassy-eyed stupor, stared into the eyes of Severus Snape and seemed to understand something. He nodded a few times with his eyes closed before he stopped; just barely opening them to stare at Severus.

"Un…," he slurred out, "Until that day," he said staring into Snape's eyes.

Snape felt a cold fist grip his heart, but he nodded nonetheless and looked into Harry's eyes: "Until that day."

Harry nodded once more before he promptly closed his eyes and let his head fall back in the chair.

Snape stood up from Potter's passed-out form and moved to his front door. Opening it, he waved and waved in order to get Mike's attention. Within moments, Mike was standing at the threshold of Snape's home; rolling his eyes as he spotted Harry slumped over in an armchair inside the study.

"Oh, well," Mike said lazily, "at least he didn't kill you!" he said to Snape in a tone of mock enthusiasm.

Snape sneered and looked Mike in the eye: "When he wakes up, tell Potter that he will be attending a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall and myself tomorrow night at six," Snape said in a familiar drawl.

Mike raised his eyebrows at this: "Will he now?"

Snape's sneer transformed into a smirk: "Just tell him he gave me his word…" he hesitated just for second, "in manner of speaking."

* * *

Author's Note: This is Writing in Progress so it may look a little chopped up, but I love doing these kinds of scenes. I hope this chapter revealed a little bit more of the mystery; although I imagine it probably added some as well.

As for the whole "conspiracy theories" resembling actual fanfics: I did that as an homage thing. I love both of the stories the two theories mentioned are based on. I'll let you decide which is which.


	3. Missing

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.

* * *

Chapter 2: Missing…

July 1, 1997

Remus Lupin's sleepy eyes slowly opened to find a mess of dark black hair in front of his face. He smiled as he wrapped his right arm tighter against Dora, taking in her scent. He loved seeing her like this: sleeping peacefully. It was only in moments like this that her metamorphmagus-abilities failed to change her true appearance. Her breathing was even and rhythmic. Her body felt so warm against his. Remus felt like he could watch her sleep all day.

She had gotten back from her shift at Privet Drive some time after midnight. After working out some of their collective stress and tension, she had asked Remus if he wanted to get married that very summer. The thought of it both scared and excited the hell out of him. For so many years, Remus could only see a solitary life in his future; a loneliness that made him want to wail at the moon every night, not just the nights he dealt with his furry little problem. Before him now lay an opportunity at leading a somewhat normal life; of knowing true companionship. He wanted that so badly it made his heart ache, but the fear that he would hurt her—that his condition would jeopardize their life together—always sent a cold chill through his veins.

He felt his hope at happiness begin to stir against him and heard a small moan from her lips. Her eyes creased open only slightly as she turned to look at him. She smiled brilliantly as her hair changed to a bright pink while the few blemishes in her skin disappeared. "Wotcher…" she said sleepily.

"Hello, beautiful," Remus said with adoration in his voice.

Tonks shifted slightly and felt something next to her bum; her eyebrows shot up though her eyes remain closed, the smile still on her face. "A little early for that, love, don't you think?"

Remus sighed with a smirk. "Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat for you to play with?" he asked jokingly.

Tonks' smile never left her face. "Oh good, I'm glad you're finally catching on," she responded; the humor evident in her voice as she pressed herself against him.

Remus moaned softly and leaned his head down so the he could press a soft kiss against her neck. "You're going to be the death of me…" he whispered.

The mood was quickly sucked out of the air, however, when a _patronus_ in the form of a fox burst into the room with a blinding flash of light. The voice of Hestia Jones was unmistakable.

"EMERGENCY! PRIVET DRIVE!"

Remus felt his heart skip several beats before he and Tonks quickly scrambled out of his bed; wrestling with their clothes.

_No, no, no, no_…the chanting in Remus' head was unending. It felt like his heart was trying to break out of his chest. His hands shook and he had trouble with the buttons of his shirt.

Tonks was just as flummoxed if not more so. She kept dropping things or putting them on backwards. She tripped over twice trying to put her underwear on. Oddly, it reminded her of a time that she had nearly been caught with a boy by her father the summer of her sixth year. She shook the image from her head. She knew she was panicking. She had trained for this.

They had only just laid Dumbledore to rest the day before. While no one in the Order had relaxed their guard or forgot the danger; part of them expected the Death Eaters would lay low for awhile; at the very least to celebrate the death of the "only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared" before returning to their murderous campaign. Now it seemed their bloodlust knew no end.

Remus finished tying his other shoe and quickly made for the door. Tonks fell over once more struggling with her shoes before she followed on his heels. They burst through the front door of Remus' cottage in the forests of Derbyshire and ran to the edge of his wards. Once past, they both turned on the spot and disappeared with a pop.

Conscious of muggles, they had apparated into a wooded area just behind an old storage shed at the end of Privet Drive. Jones was there, ready to meet them.

"Oh, thank _Merlin_," she said with a shaky voice. She had tears in her eyes and on her pink cheeks. She appeared to be shaking. She looked directly into Remus' eyes when she said, "_He's gone_!"

Remus felt his stomach drop and his chest constrict painfully. He winced slightly before he got a hold of himself. Tonks kept shifting from one foot to the other with excited energy; her eyes wide with shock and panic.

He hated to do it, but Remus raised his wand and pointed it at Jones. This could be a trick. He didn't know the woman all that well, so he resorted to one of the code-phrases the Order used: "I don't remember it being this hot in England last year," he spoke the code verbatim.

Hestia's face winced in desperate confusion. "Wha-I…?"

Tonks' raised her wand as well as Jones' eyes widened in shocked realization. She held up her hands in surrender and backed away slightly. "B-better this than the winter we had two years ago," she said shakily, confirming her identity.

Remus let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and lowered his wand. He took two steps closer to Jones and put his hands on her shoulders to calm her. "What did you mean 'he's gone'? Who's gone? Just calm down and tell us what happened," Remus asked in the most collected expression he could manage.

Hestia's eyes drifted away as she blinked away tears. "I-I came to relieve Diggle at 8 o'clock like I was supposed to and…" she hesitated, "I-I couldn't find him…"

A flicker of hope welled up inside Remus: maybe they were only missing Diggle.

However, Hestia quickly continued: "I panicked so I-I went to check on Number 4 and…Remus…" she shook slightly in disbelief, "_he's gone_!"

"Were there any signs of an attack?" Tonks asked quickly. She couldn't quit her nervous footwork. It was obvious she was anxious to get up the street.

"N-no," Hestia stumbled, "you don't understand!" She was clutching on to Remus' arms as they continued to hold her shoulders. "_They're gone_! The Dursleys! The wards! _They're all gone_!"

Remus felt the world stop. Almost as if someone had ripped the needle off the record mid-play. He dropped his head and tried to summon the will to go on. He felt Tonks' hand on his back. He picked his head up again.

"Hestia," he said calmly, determination in his eyes, "I want you to stay here and wait for the others. Okay?"

She nodded, though her eyes were still wide and glassy.

Remus looked back and gave a small nod to Tonks which she quickly returned. They left Hestia and the wooded area and began to make their way up the sidewalk of Privet Drive. Many people were out; most just leaving for work. They could hear children playing.

As they came around a bend they caught sight of Number 4. The first thing they noticed was the missing wards. Even from a distance; a witch or wizard should be able to sense the presence of wards if one could see what they were meant to be protecting, especially blood wards. Remus and Tonks felt nothing.

As they got closer, they noticed other things that only confused them. They didn't recognize the car in the driveway. The curtains were open, and both Remus and Tonks knew full well that the Dursleys never opened their curtains. There was a bike lying in the front lawn; a bike far too small and colorful for Dudley.

As they got closer, they saw the front door open and a man in a business suit holding a briefcase step out. The thing that shocked both Remus and Tonks to the point of making them stop in their tracks was that the man was most certainly not Vernon Dursley.

He was tall with sandy blonde hair and a swimmer's build. He bent to pick up the paper and turned back to the doorway. Standing behind him was a woman of average height and curly brown hair. She smiled up at him and stood on her tip-toes to give him a kiss. The man turned to leave when he seemed to notice the bike on the lawn. He pointed at it and said something to the woman. She just laughed and made a motion with her hands, shooing him away and closing the door. The man was in his car and backing out of the driveway before Remus or Tonks could release their breath.

"_What the hell is this, Remus_?" Tonks asked through heavy breaths.

Remus didn't know how to answer her. He was as shocked, confused, and scared as she was. One thing was very clear: Jones was right. The wards, the Dursleys, Harry…were all gone.

Remus' mind was racing. None of it made any sense. '_Why would the Death Eaters do this?_' he asked himself. _'They wouldn't!_' he quickly responded. _'Why would ANYONE_ _do this?'_ Remus needed some answers.

"You saw _nothing_ last night?" he asked Tonks, the accusatory nature of his voice unavoidable.

"_No_!" Tonks said fighting back her own anger at his tone. She understood how he must have felt. "When I left the wards were fine and the Dursleys were sleeping. I even saw Harry sitting at his desk," she explained quickly; shaking her head in confusion. "Charlie relieved me at midnight…"she trailed off as she thought of something. "_We need to check on Charlie_!" she said, panic in her voice.

"We will," Remus said grabbing hold of her, "but right now we must see to this," he said looking back at Number 4. He looked back at Tonks: "I'm going to knock on the door," he said before he looked around, scanning the area, "and I want you to get to the other side of the street and watch my back."

Tonks nodded and tried to suppress her hysteria. She looked down and around for a moment before she saw a large rock lying off to the side in the grass. She looked around to ensure no one was watching before she pointed her wand and transfigured it with a whispered incantation into a small puppy; chain and all. Transfiguring inanimate objects into animate beings wouldn't last very long, but Tonks only needed it briefly for her cover. She gave another reassuring squeeze to Remus' hand and a significant look into his eyes before she trotted off across the street—her hair now strawberry blonde—fake puppy in tow.

Remus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, steeling himself. He didn't know what the hell he was walking into; all he knew was that he had to. He walked the rest of the distance to Number 4 and made his way up the sidewalk of the house. He gave a reassuring pat to his wand inside his left sleeve. He reached the front step, took another deep breath, and knocked twice.

The woman with the curly brown hair answered. From the look and the smile she gave Remus, it was clear she did not recognize him. He did notice the slight shock and shift in her eyes at the sight of his scars. He could hardly blame her for that, though. Everyone did that the first time.

"Yes?" she asked expectantly. "Can I help you?" If she had been expecting Remus, she was a terrific actor.

"I'm sorry," said Remus appearing confused, which wasn't that difficult, "I must have the wrong address." He dropped back a step to appear non-threatening, but continued nonetheless. "Perhaps you could help me, though," he said politely, "I was looking for the Dursley residence." He gestured his head to the number "4" on the side of the wall next to the door: "I was told they live here."

Now it was the woman's turn to look confused. "Dursley, you say?" she looked away as if trying to remember something, but quickly shook her head. "I can't say I'm familiar with anyone by that name in this area."

Remus nodded at this, registering the sound of a puppy barking behind him on the other side of the street. "I see," he said. He decided to probe further. "Perhaps they were the former residents," he said, knowing full well that was the case.

The woman only smiled. "It would have to have been some time ago," she said with a small laugh, "This house has been in my husband's family since he was a boy."

* * *

July 8, 2008

Harry was back sitting in the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked on Spinner's End; only this time he wore a tailored suit and had a shiny, black leather briefcase in his lap. He sighed heavily as he looked up at the light coming from Snape's windows.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he asked aloud more to himself.

Mike had a smile on his face as he sat behind the wheel. "Supposedly you gave your word," he said, giving Harry a knowing look.

"Does anyone even give a shit about stuff like that anymore?" Harry said with a groan in his voice.

Mike gave a small laugh. "Not really, but you do," he said shaking his head.

"Yeah," Harry said looking down at his lap, "I do." His eyes stared off into space.

"It's bollocks if you ask me," Mike interrupted Harry's musings.

"I appreciate that," Harry tossed back.

"Still," Mike said as he adjusted himself in the seat, "I can't believe Jenkins and Seven are going along with this." Mike reached into the backseat to retrieve his ridiculous Skeeter book. "Certainly going to shake things up a bit," he said flipping through pages; his meaning obvious.

"That's why you guys are coming with me," Harry said as he pulled his sleeve down to check his watch, "to protect me from the press." His eyes traveled over and he looked at Mike's book: "Although if I see her I'm just going to start shooting."

Mike flipped the book over. "She can't be all that bad, can she?"

"You know she's an unregistered animagus? A fucking beetle of all things," Harry said quickly before his eyes looked away and narrowed. "If I see a beetle on this bullshit job, I'm smashing it with a newspaper."

"Ooo, you should use the _Prophet_!" Mike said excitedly. "Very poetic!" The smile slid off of Mike's face though as he tapped the book against the steering wheel. His expression became very serious and collected. "You know it's not the press you should be worried about, right?" Mike asked in a warning tone.

Harry only rolled his eyes and sighed. "I know."

Mike decided to persist: "There's going to be a lot of them there--"

"I know, Mike, alright?" Harry cut him off. He opened his suit and unholstered his 1911 and did a press-check. He released the tension on the slide, flipped the safety on, and reholstered. "I'll deal with them when the time comes," he said not looking at Mike.

Mike seemed unconvinced, but nodded his head anyway and looked away.

Harry heaved another sigh as he looked at his watch again. "Alright, time to do this," he said before taking a couple of deep breaths. "This is going to be so weird," he said shaking his head.

The smile came back to Mike's face. "You'll be fine," he said giving Harry a pat on the shoulder, "everyone gets nervous before a job interview." He giggled slightly.

"Shut up," Harry said with a groan. He rubbed his face with his hands buried the heels into his eyes. "I _fucking_ hate floo travel," he muttered from behind his arms.

"As well you should," Mike said with a laugh. "Cell phones?"

"Right," Harry said as he reached into his pants and coat pockets to retrieve two cell phones: one a standard flip-up and the other a Blackberry. He turned them both off before returning them to his pockets.

"Got your mirror on you?" Mike asked as he checked to make sure his own Blackberry was on. When people couldn't get in touch with Harry, they went to Mike.

"What are you, my mother?" Harry asked as he reached inside coat pocket and pulled out a highly-polished, rectangular obsidian mirror; the wizarding world's latest answer to long-range communication. Harry flashed it to Mike before putting it away.

"Just looking out for you, mate," Mike said with a smile on his face.

Harry paused for a second and looked back at Mike with his own smile. "I appreciate it," he said genuinely.

Mike's eyebrows furrowed. "We're not going to have a '_Brokeback_' moment, are we?"

"You're such an asshole," Harry muttered as he rolled his eyes and opened his door to step out.

"_I don't know how to quit you_--," was the last Harry heard before he slammed the door shut. He had to smile just a little bit. Mike's attempt at an American accent had been amusing.

Harry took a deep breath before he made his way across the street. His dress shoes sounded incredibly loud as they fell against the dank, dark cobblestones. Somehow this didn't feel real to him, like his legs were moving absent his willingness or control. He briefly wondered if someone had brainwashed him but quickly discounted it. He was too well trained for that. He then considered if he had brainwashed himself. Now that was a definite possibility…

He made his way up the steps and was about to knock on the door when it opened quickly. Septima stood facing him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in shock. Harry quickly determined she had no problem recognizing him now.

She blinked several times and made an awkward gesture with her hand. "P-please," she stuttered; "come in."

Harry could already feel the annoyance crawling up the back of his neck like a centipede. '_What the fuck am I doing?_'he asked himself again. He had successfully avoided the civilian population of Wizarding Britain for the last 10 years. It had been the only luxury of that time. Now he was pissing away sweet anonymity for shocked stares and ridiculous platitudes. In the weeks before his return to England, Harry had been in West Africa rescuing a couple of oil workers from a cannibalistic juju cult led by a sadistic, megalomaniacal witch doctor. Six weeks in the bush surrounded by machete-wielding, qat-chewing psychopaths with a basic understanding of only the darkest magic.

Compared to this, however, Harry felt like it was a vacation.

Harry followed _Mrs. _Snape into the study where he stood stiff next to the fireplace. Harry's eyes shifted to the fire and he glared at it. '_I fucking hate floo travel_…'

Septima turned to face Harry, wringing her hands which shook slightly from nerves. Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she wished to say something. Finally she cleared her throat and appeared to steel herself. "Mr. Potter, I—I just wanted to say--"

"Is Severus ready yet?" Harry asked, quickly cutting her off. "I would rather not be late," he said looking at his watch. His tone was cold and frank.

Septima was thrown by Harry's rudeness and decided to leave well enough alone. Before she could answer him, Snape came in from the kitchen; dressed in his very familiar black robes.

Snape looked at Harry up and down and his eyes narrowed at his suit. "You're not wearing robes?" he asked in a curious if somewhat snide tone.

Harry just gave a short nod. "I'm not wearing robes," he said; his expression blank.

Snape gave a little sigh. "Potter, I really think you should--"

"The only robe I own is in my bathroom, Snape," Harry said sharply. "Are you ready or not?"

Severus shared a quick regretful look with Septima before he looked back at Harry and nodded. He walked to the fireplace and took a handful of floo powder from the large cup on the mantle. He gave a quick toss and the fire roared green.

Snape looked back to Harry. He seemed to study him for a minute as he scrunched up his nose. "I wish you would have shaved as well," he scorned.

"Are you quite finished?" Harry asked, exasperated.

Snape looked from Harry back to the flames. "Would you like to go first?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.

Harry just sneered at the fire. "I'm right behind you."

'_That's what I'm afraid of_,' Snape thought to himself before he took a deep breath and stepped into the fire, picturing the office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts in his mind.

* * *

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk reviewing paperwork as she did her best to ignore the snoring coming from the portrait of Armando Dippet. How Albus ever got used to the incessant snoring Minerva would never understand.

She looked over at the portrait of her mentor and longtime friend. He sat in his favorite armchair, sleeping peacefully. A day did not go by that she didn't miss him or wish that it was still he that sat in her chair. She smiled sadly, thinking how he would have enjoyed living in such times; times when he would no longer need to worry about protecting his school or his students from the darkest wizard of this age or his minions.

'_And such busy times as well!_' Minerva thought to herself as she looked down at all the paperwork in front of her. The student population of Hogwarts had doubled in the time since the end of the Second Wizarding War. Every incoming class was bigger than the last, and the school's magic had accommodated the population growth accordingly. It was hard to recognize any of the dormitories anymore with how much they had grown, or the Great Hall for that matter as well.

Most had chalked up the growth to the fact that many of the old pureblood families were no longer homeschooling their children, most having not trusted the safety of the school (or the sanity of its quirky headmaster). Over time, though, Minerva became convinced that the magical population was indeed simply growing. More and more muggleborns appeared in the registry every year. This fact gave her pause sometimes: having no explanation for something so important baffled many after all. Over time, though, she had simply learned to accept it. The more the merrier.

That's what she hoped at least.

The fireplace seemed to growl as the flames sputtered and turned green. She had left the floo open knowing that she had an appointment with Severus at six o'clock, but the truth was that she had become rather lax with security in recent years.

The flames jumped and Snape came striding out gracefully, his black robes billowing behind him. McGonagall stood from her chair and came around her desk to greet him.

"Severus," she said with a small smile. "It's been too long," she said extending her hand.

Snape took her hand tentatively. "Minerva," he said with a nod, it was difficult for him to look her in the eye.

With some guilt, McGonagall still felt a little uneasy around Severus. After all, Albus had died at his hand, though she long ago learned and understood the circumstances of the event. Seeing Snape's memories of the relationship Severus had with Albus—how he had looked up to his old teacher like a father—had made it impossible for Minerva to hate her old rival. It also made Minerva understand how painful it must have been for Snape to do what he did, and she had long since forgiven him.

But a part of her still hated the fact that there had been no other way, and the fact that Snape refused to talk about the rest of the war—about what happened to Voldemort.

'…_Or Harry_,' she thought with a sharp pain in her heart.

She blinked and tried to shake those thoughts away before smiling again. "Septima tells me you've been doing well," she said looking him up and down. "I trust she's enjoying her summer break?"

"She is, Headmistress, thank you for asking," he said giving the tiniest of smiles before quickly dropping it and glancing nervously behind him.

Just as she was about to scold Severus for not calling her 'Minerva', the fireplace roared again and—much to McGonagall's surprise—another figure came stumbling out. He righted himself and Minerva could just barely hear him swear under his breath as he glared back at the green fire.

The first thing Minerva noticed was that he was not wearing any kind of robes, but rather an expensive-looking muggle suit. He was a well-built man, tall and broad-shouldered. She guessed he was probably in his late 30s or early 40s with the early gray on his head and in his facial hair. He batted away some ash off his pants. She noticed his face was scarred and worn, and he had cold distance in his eyes when he looked at her, though his expression remained blank.

McGonagall had her eyebrows raised in surprise when she looked back to Severus. "I see you've brought a guest?"

Severus had the oddest little expression on his face, a crooked smile and a knowing look in his eyes. "Minerva," he said gesturing to their new arrival, "I would like to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he said with a hint of excitement in his voice. "Should you choose to appoint him, of course," he added; his sarcasm only a little obvious.

Minerva couldn't hide her astonishment if she tried. She looked at the man again and found his expression unchanged. She gaped a few times before composing herself and turning back to Snape. "My word, Severus," she said, her breathing picking up, "and to think that I was prepared for you to demand the position yourself!"

"Oh," Snape said; his coy demeanor unfazed, "I trust you'll find him far more qualified." Severus was almost shaking in anticipation.

Minerva noticed the man shoot a quick glare at the back of Snape's head.

If possible, Minerva's eyes widened even further and she gave a quick laugh of incredulity. "That's quite the endorsement coming from you, Severus!" She did her best to school her features before she took two steps towards the man and extended her hand. "And your name, sir?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he responded stoically as he shook her hand briefly.

Just as Minerva was about to scold the man for his inappropriate attempt at humor, her breath hitched in her throat and her jaw dropped. She could see his scar: the familiar lightning bolt. Though lighter and much less prominent, it was still there, clear as day. She looked back into his eyes and with some effort was finally able to recognize the boy she saw Albus lay on the doorstep of the Dursleys all those years ago, the boy she saw snatch a falling remembrall out of thin air the very first time on a broom, the same boy she saw brave a dragon in the first round of the Triwizard Tournament, the same boy…the same boy that had been missing all these years…the Boy-Who-Lived…the Savior of the Wizarding World…the Chosen One…

…and he had just introduced himself as if he sold insurance for a living.

Minerva staggered backward slightly only to feel Snape's arm come up to support her back, the expression on his face a once in a lifetime event. None of the portraits were snoring now.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Harry asked with a furrowed brow; his tone genuinely concerned as he stepped forward.

Minerva felt like the world had dropped away under her feet. Ten years—ten years of worry, of not knowing if he was alive or dead, of not knowing _anything_—and here he was, standing there like it had been a day. He didn't even seem bothered by the fact that McGonagall didn't recognize him, that she didn't shout for joy at the mere sight of him. The ridiculousness of it all made Minerva want to slap herself in the face just to check if she was breathing.

"_Harry_?!?..." she all but coughed out as her lungs released the huge gulp of air she had sucked down.

The look of concern vanished quickly as Harry looked down and away. He plastered a smile on his face that didn't go to his eyes as he made gesture with his hands. "In the flesh," he said; a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

Minerva couldn't make sense of it. He was so different. His build, his hair, his face, his eyes. He seemed so old, far older than he should have been. She couldn't make sense of any of it. So Minerva did the only thing that did make sense.

"_Harry_!" she exclaimed again as she ran forward and wrapped him in a tight hug—a grandmother's hug. Tears of joy slowly began leaking down her face as she pressed it into the tall man's shoulder. '_Oh, thank Merlin,_' she thought to herself, '_thank Merlin!_'

Snape just wished he had a camera, though he supposed the pensieve memory would do. Of course, the ice cold look of death that Potter was currently giving him dampened his mood somewhat. An image of his own neck being snapped like a twig flashed in his mind and Snape winced and looked away. Harry's skills in the magic of the mind had certainly improved over the years.

Harry cleared his throat loudly. McGonagall, seemingly just realizing what she was doing—and realizing that Harry was not returning her embrace—quickly released him and took a few steps backwards.

"Sorry," she said quickly as she wiped the tears off her face. "My apologies, Mr. Potter," she said trying to regain some of her usual decorum.

"It's quite alright, ma'am," Harry said emotionlessly as he wiped the wet spot on his shoulder, "think nothing of it." He plastered on another fake smile.

McGonagall looked thoroughly uncomfortable. "Yes, well," she began again averting their eyes, "please sit down." She motioned to the two seats positioned in front of her desk.

As they made their way across the large office, Snape stopped when he noticed the portrait of Dumbledore looking at him with a smile on his face. "Hello, Severus," Albus said with fondness.

Snape swallowed thickly and gave a nod and small smile in acknowledgment. "Hello, Professor," he returned

Much of the tension Minerva had been feeling up to that moment eased when she saw the heartfelt exchange between the two wizards. She found it remarkable just how much Severus had truly changed.

She was startled, however, when Harry brushed past both of them and took his seat; completely and utterly ignoring the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. His face and neck seemed taut, almost as if he was forcing himself to stare straight ahead. Snape saw this and he seemed to almost cringe as he looked away. He shot a quick remorseful look to Dumbledore before he too moved to take his seat. Dumbledore simply furrowed his eyebrows in perplexed observation, staring at the back of Harry's head.

Minerva brushed it aside. She was simply too excited to have Harry within ten feet of her again to really consider and interpret his apparent anomalies. She moved behind her desk and took her seat, Severus taking his as well.

"Well," she said shifting some papers around on her desk, "Severus, I suppose we should start with you," she said with almost the tiniest hint of annoyance and regret in her voice. It was obvious she couldn't wait to get to Harry. "As you know, the Board of Governors has already approved your selection as our new Potions Master. As you are a re-hire, there have been some amenities made to your contract…"

Harry drowned out the rest of what the two said to each other as papers were exchanged back and forth. He took the time to let his eyes explore the room. He reached out with his mind and focused, he listened very intently. Occasionally, his eyes would fall on an object: a book here, a quill there, an inkwell, a cabinet doorknob, a candlestick, etc. He focused on all these things and he smirked to himself. Very few others in the world would have been able to sense the ever so subtle vibrations, the smallest amount of energy; the presence of a _thought_, of an _idea_. He shook his head slightly.

McGonagall's office was filled with monitoring charms.

'_At least Seven is still thorough_," Harry thought to himself. Some of it was rather sloppy work actually. Harry would need to use his wand to find the good ones. He chuckled to himself when he realized the others were probably just there as decoys. '_It's what I would have done_," he thought admiringly.

Harry was pulled from his musings when McGonagall turned to him. "Now, Mr. Potter," she said regaining some of the authority in her voice, "am I to understand that you wish to submit your name into consideration for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?" she asked formally.

"I am, ma'am," Harry responded just as formally. He leaned to the side to open up the leather flap of his briefcase. He pulled out a large envelopment made of thick parchment with a wax seal. Handing it to McGonagall, Harry said, "The contents of the envelope include my CV, copies of my school transcripts and examination results, my Mastery certification, and a few letters of recommendation and commendation I have received over the years."

Just as Minerva felt herself wanting to tell Harry that none of that was necessary, a more rational side of her painfully forced her mouth to stay tightly shut. She took the parcel as if it as the most precious gift in the world. The information alone would be worth millions to some. '_Rita Skeeter, eat your heart out_," McGonagall thought to herself.

Almost as if he had heard her, Harry explained, "The contents of the envelope are, of course, protected by a _Fidelius _charm. You—and you alone—may read them." He leaned forward again as he passed her a small note. "You merely have to think the password in order to open the envelope and read the materials inside."

McGonagall took the small, folded note in her hand with some trepidation. This was very advanced magic. She wondered if Harry was doing this for her benefit or if he truly was that serious about his privacy and security. She slowly unfolded the parchment and saw written in near perfect cursive: '_Torn Victor_.'

Just as she registered those two words in her mind, the small note disappeared before her eyes in a flash of red flame.

After seeing something as complicated as a _Fidelius _charm used with such ease and precision over something as small as a job application; McGonagall was prepared to write off on Harry right then and there. Still, with a curiosity that matched her animagus form, she ripped open the seal and slowly removed the stack of documents inside.

She knew she would agonize over the documents later for hours on end, but she couldn't resist quickly skimming through at least some of them. The first thing she noticed on his CV was that he had listed no address; merely the number of an Owl Perch (OP) within the Ministry's main London Owlery. It seemed the mystery of where Harry now lived would endure.

Her next disappointment came when she flipped through Harry's CV for his employment history. Very simply, the section of the CV began: "_Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, UK; 1997-2001. Position: N/A._"

Minerva did not even know what "N/A" meant. Whatever had happened during the war, as confusing and inexplicable as it remained to that day, would remain unanswered as well.

Still, there were gems of information to be found. McGonagall rifled back through some of the papers to find Harry's N.E.W.T. scores: "O's" in Defense, Transfiguration, and Charms with an "E" in Potions. This hardly surprised her, however. She always knew Harry was a wonderful student, if only a little distracted (and who could blame him). Granted, the scores were higher than what she had seen from Harry in the past, but with a little application, she had always known Harry was capable of "Outstanding" level work.

What made her eyes widen and her jaw drop was Harry's other transcripts. While still in the employ of the Department of Mysteries, Harry had earned a Mastery of the Dark Arts from the Salem Institute in the United States. This impressed McGonagall, but also troubled her slightly. The Americans approached the study of the Dark Arts in a much different and more controversial fashion, and given the wide variety of magical forms studied and practiced in the New World, Mastery of any particular subject was hard to come by.

To say that this qualified him to teach at a secondary boarding school would be an understatement to say the least.

What shocked and disturbed her even more so, however, was his PhD. in Parapsychology from Princeton.

McGonagall, like most academics in the Wizarding World, had heard of Princeton's Engineering Anomalies Research Laboratory (PEARL to wizards, PEAR to muggles), and like many she did not approve. The lab was the ultimate flirtation with the divide between the magical and muggle worlds. Unaware muggles worked side-by-side with wizards and witches, performing experiments and recording results, the whole time only seeing what they were allowed to see. Representatives from the ICW had been permanently stationed at the site to make sure the Statute of Secrecy remained intact, but rumors abounded of botched experiments and mass memory modifications. The muggle side had formally shut down just the year before, but many believed the work continued nonetheless.

Beyond the fear of exposure, many simply feared what PEARL did research on. Supposedly, much of the work focused on the difference between muggles and wizards, and whether or not some muggles possessed the latent capability to use magic. In the muggle world, the work of PEAR was criticized and dismissed; the stuff of science fiction and fantasy. In the wizarding world, however, the work of PEARL was not so easily ignored.

McGonagall's attention immediately snapped back into the present when the sound of Harry clearing his throat startled her out of her thoughts. She looked to Harry to see him looking at his watch, obviously annoyed and impatient. She fixed him with a stern look.

"Is there somewhere you need to be, Mr. Potter?" she asked; a familiar strictness in her voice.

Harry gave her a cold look before breathing out heavily through his nose. "No, ma'am," he said dispassionately.

She held her severe look for a few more seconds before looking down again to continue reading with eagerness.

On his CV, beneath the academic schools and degrees, Harry had listed several other non-academic schools and courses he attended and completed successfully; some of which simply baffled Minerva. She read words like "CTCRM Sniper", "ML2", "CRW", "CQB", "CTR", "SERE", etc. as if the had been written in Chinese. She understood that they must have had something to do with the muggle military, but for the life of her she could not understand why the DoM would have sent Harry there to train. '_What could muggles teach Harry that would do any good against magic_?' she asked herself incredulously.

She was also astonished to see Harry list fluency in _nineteen_ languages other than English: French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Dutch, German, Serb, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Arabic, Dari, Hindi, Igbo, Afrikaans, IsiZulu, Gobbledygook, and—much to McGonagall's distress—Parseltongue.

She was trying to skim faster; words like "_Krav Maga_", "_Systema_", "_Eskrima_", "_Silat_", "_Kali_", "_Aikido_", and "_Karate_" seemed like just more gibberish to her; something she would have to research later. It was the job history she was more interested in.

"Mr. Potter," she said with curiosity as she stared down at the paperwork, "could you tell me a little bit more about this company you work for…Invictus?"

"We're a private security firm, ma'am," Harry responded almost flippantly. McGonagall could have sworn she saw his knee bouncing in agitation.

She blinked a few times. "I'm not sure I understand that, Mr. Potter."

Harry gave a forceful and noticeable sigh. "We provide an economical private sector solution to security problems normally the responsibility of sovereign authorities; as well as security services to private citizens, corporations, and institutions in need of such assistance. We specialize in projects concerning supernatural or paranormal activities," he recited from memory.

McGonagall was trying her best to read between the lines, but it just wasn't coming to her. "Mr. Potter, I'm not sure I--,"

"They're mercenaries," Snape interrupted impassively.

McGonagall took a sharp intake of breath not only from Snape's words, but also from the utter look of rage and fury that Harry shot at Severus. Severus himself winced severely and moaned slightly in pain when his mind was flooded with an image of himself on fire, screaming. Harry's imagination provided more than enough details.

"We are _not_—_mercenaries_," Harry said icily, his glare on Severus only getting worse. "We are private security contractors." Harry's face went stoic; unemotional.

Silence hung in the air for a little while as McGonagall tried to take in everything that was happening. It was more than a little overwhelming. She only knew one thing: whatever Harry's CV said, whatever he had been doing for the last ten years, she was determined to bring him home, no matter what.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Minerva said as she quickly flipped through the letters at the bottom of the pile, "everything seems to be in order here." She saw letterheads from various governments, ministries, agencies, corporations, the ICW, etc. "Granted, your appointment must still be approved by the Board of Governors, but once that goes through we'll be able to draw up your--,"

"Actually, ma'am," Harry interrupted, "I had my solicitor take the liberty of drafting my contract if that's alright." He reached back into his briefcase to pull out another set of papers.

McGonagall felt herself slightly put out. He may have been Harry Potter, but he didn't have to _act _like it. "Mr. Potter," she said with authority, he eyes narrowing, "all new professors of the school receive a standard, fixed salary that--,"

"Oh, I assure you, Headmistress," Harry said as he handed over the paperwork, "the contract abides by Hogwarts' salary regulations." Harry said this with a straight face, but it was a bald faced lie. Sure, Hogwarts would be paying him as a new-hire, but the contract that Seven had awarded him to go through with this whole mess would make Harry's Hogwarts salary look like a 5 year-old's allowance money.

"There are some provisions, however," Harry said as McGonagall began leafing through the pages, "none of which are negotiable." Harry's expression remained blank, but a part of him felt like feral cat getting ready to rip apart an unsuspecting prey.

"What sort of _provisions_, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked as she looked down at the paperwork, her brow knit in confusion and worry.

Harry interlaced his fingers. A part of him immediately chastised himself for such predictably cheesy act, but he just couldn't help himself. "Invictus International and the Black Group are prepared to donate a rather large sum of money to the school, provided that a portion of the funds is used to satisfy the conditions of my contract," he said as he steepled his fingers.

McGonagall felt her heart-rate quicken. The Hogwarts scholarship fund had suffered with the growth in the student population. Cuts had been made, standards raised. A little more gold in the Hogwarts' vaults in Gringotts was a win-win for everyone. Minerva was a little ashamed to admit it to herself, but a part of her couldn't get over the idea of picking up _Harry Potter_ as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor while simultaneously rejuvenating Hogwarts' struggling financials. Needless, to say, she felt like her animagus form just ate the canary.

Still, it didn't feel right.

"What exactly are these special _conditions_, Mr. Potter?" she asked, intently suppressing the feeling of anticipation in her chest. Beyond the excitement, there was a hollow feeling of worry. She didn't like this talk of "conditions" and "provisions".

"Not much, ma'am," Harry said as he looked into her eyes meaningfully. "Primarily, the school must hire and field a guard force of no less than thirty well-qualified men and women. Furthermore, the wards and physical fortifications of the castle and its grounds must be reinforced with outside consultancy." Harry's expression betrayed nothing.

Minerva raised her head a little higher in realization. She was beginning to see the game being played. "Am I to presume it will be this _Invictus_ International that will provide said guards and consultants?" she asked giving Harry a wary look.

"You may presume whatever you wish, Headmistress," Harry said monotonously, "but if you can find another company better suited to the task, I would be more than happy to welcome their input and assistance."

McGonagall gave Harry a skeptical look. '_Of course there was no other company that could do this_,' she thought to herself, '_until today I have never even _heard_ of such a thing_.' She found the passage in the contract regarding the new security provisions.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said shaking her head with a heavy breath, "I can assure you that the safety and protection of Hogwarts is near absolute--,"

"Headmistress," Harry interrupted; his eyes cold, "perhaps you would spare me from having to relay to you my own experiences with the safety and protection of Hogwarts before you understand my concern for the upgrades."

The corner of Snape's lip twitched. '_He's got you there, Minerva_,' he thought to himself, suppressing a chuckle.

Minerva's eyes fell in resignation before looking at Harry again. "Very well, Mr. Potter," she said as she set the paperwork down. "If you find these precautions necessary, I will agree to them." Her head tilted slightly as she seemed to consider something. "I must ask, however, just how large this donation of yours will be?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "These measures could prove to be _quite_ expensive," her tone was biting.

Smaller pieces of parchment appeared out of Harry's briefcase, Gringotts' checks to be precise. "Once I sign, you need but endorse it on the back," he said handing the two checks to McGonagall.

As she read the numbers, McGonagall's eyes widened impossibly and she fought with all her might to keep her mouth closed. The amounts of the two checks added up to close to Hogwarts' entire yearly operating budget. Once Harry and she signed, the goblins were going to have a hell of a time moving all that gold between vaults.

The one check puzzled her, however. "Mr. Potter, what exactly is the Black Group?" she asked hesitantly. She assumed it had something to do with Sirius and the fortune he had left Harry in his will, but she wanted to make sure.

"It's a private equity venture capital firm I'm involved with, ma'am," Harry responded. "My partners and I see this as more of a…_investment_," Harry said, his head nodding forward, "rather than a donation."

Something about the way he said "investment" made a shiver run down McGonagall's spine, but she did her best to dismiss it. This was not a gift one could return in good conscience.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said trying to keep her voice even. "I have no objections to your proposal. Once I consult with the Board, I'm sure we can--,"

"Headmistress," Harry interrupted again, this time with some exasperation in his voice. "I have no doubt that the board will sign off on not only my appointment but also the conditions thereof, and as I am a rather _busy_ man, I would prefer if we could conclude these matters this evening."

"_Such arrogance_!" came the whispered outcry from the portrait of Phineas Black to Harry's left.

Harry's eyes darted to look at the old portrait but his head didn't move, giving the effect of a rather dark glare. He smirked slightly. "You know, Headmistress," he said almost casually, looking back to Minerva, "if the school truly is on tough financial terms, you may want to consider auctioning off some the school's numerous paintings on the wizarding art circles," he said, ignoring the hushed gasps and outcries from around the room. "I'm sure they're worth a _considerable_ fortune."

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall looked aghast. "The selling or even _removal_ of the school's paintings is _strictly_ forbidden by Hogwarts' bylaws!" She understood Harry was simply trying to insult Phineas (who she was not too fond of, anyway), but she found the very idea of selling the magical artwork of the school almost _grotesque_.

Harry shrugged. "Pity," he said flippantly. His glare returned to Phineas, "The portrait of Headmaster Black's granddaughter certainly boosted my gold reserves when it sold at a closed auction last year."

Phineas quickly left his portrait enraged. Harry allowed himself to smirk.

But his face fell when he felt it. Someone was approaching McGonagall's office from the gargoyle's revolving stairs. Now that he was focused, Harry could clearly hear their footfalls on the stone floor. When he reached out and heard a few whispers of thought, a very uncomfortable feeling washed over him.

'_You've got to be fucking kidding me_,' Harry thought to himself.

* * *

A/N: AH! CLIFF!!! Don't worry, the next chapter is already up.

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	4. So Much for Happily Ever After

Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.

A/N: Starting to pick up a bit.

* * *

July 1, 1997

Ginny's eyes slowly fluttered open as the very familiar gap in her curtains moved a spot of sunlight just over her eyelids. She still felt exhausted and sore, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep; but knew she wouldn't be able to. She had slept fitfully throughout the night; waking from a barrage of nightmare upon nightmare, crying herself back to sleep again and again; slumber only the result of utter fatigue. The waste basket next to her bed was filled with used tissue.

She tried to find her strength, that thing that made her the sister of six older brothers. That quiet determination and resolution. But fear shattered that strength against the rocks like unending waves—wave upon wave of hopelessness and nightmares. She would see the Burrow burning, her family's lifeless eyes, _Harry_…

Tears brimmed yet again in Ginny's eyes as she sobbed quietly. She buried her face into her pillow and wept.

She took a few deep breaths and tried to get her emotions under control. Nothing she did right now was going to change the circumstances. She needed to endure. She needed to be patient. A part of her ached for the feeling of Harry's welcoming embrace; an ache so powerful she could feel it in her chest, as if some part of her was actually reaching for him. She took another shuddering breath and fought it back; fought back the loneliness, the longing. She felt cold and she shivered, but she gritted her teeth and fought it back. '_I can do this_,' she told herself, '_I can do this_.'

There was a flash of utter panic when she wondered if every morning this summer would pass the same way. She fought off the hysteria quickly. After all, Harry had only broken up with her the day before.

Suddenly Ginny noticed that the house was stirring, and not in any kind of familiar way. People were downstairs in the kitchen, yelling. Something was wrong. Ginny felt her stomach tighten. '_Please, no!_' Ginny screamed in her head before she threw her covers off and scrambled for her pajama robe.

She was out the door just in time to hear her mother screaming her and Ron's names. As she clamored down the stairs, she heard Ron's hurried footfalls behind her. Various nightmares ran through her mind as her breathing picked up, most involving her family or Harry. She entered the kitchen to find her mother—her face white with panic, her father talking in the floo, and Professor Lupin—who looked like he had seen better days.

"What's going on?" Ron asked quickly. "Professor Lupin?"

Lupin grabbed Ron by the shoulders. "Have you been in contact with Harry since the train station yesterday?"

'_Of course it's Harry,_' Ginny thought to herself as she held her breath.

Ron looked confused and worried. "No. When would I have--," he shook his head. "What's going on?" he asked again more forcefully.

"Ginny," Lupin said turning to her, "have you spoken with Harry? A letter? _Anything_?"

Ginny could only shake her head slightly; her eyes wide with panic.

Lupin's head dropped for just a moment before he looked up again. "What about Charlie? Have either of you seen or heard from him since last night?"

"Charlie?" Ron looked confused for a second before his eyes widened in realization. "Was there an attack on Privet Drive?"

"He never came home last night," offered Arthur as he came over from the fireplace. "I've spoken with Bill and the twins. They haven't heard from him either." The lines on Mr. Weasley's face were taught and drawn with worry.

Mrs. Weasley could only sit at the kitchen table; her hands folded and pressed against her lips as tears built in her eyes. Whispers of "_Please_, _please_, _please_" could be heard.

"Professor Lupin," Ron spoke with determination, "where is Harry?" His eyes were hard and blazing. When it came to his best friend, nothing else quite drew the Gryffindor out of him.

Remus, though, could only sigh and look at Ron with eyes filled with regret. "We don't know, Ron," he said very simply.

Ginny closed her eyes and turned away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She felt like she was going to be sick and she stumbled slightly out of dizziness. Everything was coming undone. She quickly took the seat next to her mother who gathered her up in a tight embrace.

Just then the fireplace roared and Hermione came stumbling out, the panic on her face matching everyone else's. Tonks followed behind, her pleading eyes immediately searching for Remus. He could only shake his head 'No'. He wasn't having much luck either.

"Ron!" Hermione yelped before running into his arms. He embraced her tightly before she pulled back quickly. "What's happening?"

Ron only shook his head in confusion before looking towards Remus again, Hermione following his gaze.

Remus, however, was flipping through the pages of a few small notebooks he had set out on the kitchen table. They were the logbooks for Order members stationed at Privet Drive. "We're not sure," he said as flipped another page, looking for a pattern, suspicious activity, _anything_; "all we know right now is that Harry and the Dursleys are missing and that the blood wards are gone." Remus' tone was even and collected. He was professional enough to realize that panicking would do very little to help.

Hermione covered her mouth with both hands in shock as Ron ran his fingers through his hair before gripping hard; his expression frustrated. "Was there an _attack or not_?" he asked crossly.

"We don't think so," Lupin said stoically, his concentration focused. "There were no signs of a struggle."

The way Remus said "struggle" set something off in Hermione. "What's _that_ meant to mean?" she demanded quickly.

"Harry wouldn't have left without us!" Ron added forcefully.

This bomb of revelation caused several heads to shoot up. Hermione closed her eyes and quietly cursed to herself as she threw a quick glare at Ron. He was never very good with keeping secrets.

Remus' eyes bore into Ron's: "And just where exactly were the three of you planning on going?" he asked slowly, hoping this was the lead they needed.

Ron by now had learned to keep his mouth shut, but Hermione sighed in resignation. She knew the others weren't going to let this go without an explanation. "Dumbledore left Harry a task—a mission," she said before shaking her head, "but Ron's right. Harry wouldn't have left without us. He _needs_ us!" she insisted.

"Besides," Ron added now that the cat was completely out of the bag, "we promised each other that we would stay until at least after the wedding."

"But if, for whatever reason, Harry felt compelled to leave without you," Remus began, ignoring Ron's shaking head, "where would he go? Where were you planning to start this mission of yours?" He saw the young witch and wizard exchange worried looks before he said, "It may be our only hope in finding him."

Hermione, after biting he lip hard and seeing Ron staring at the ground intensely, finally relented: "We weren't sure yet, Professor. We hadn't figured that far ahead yet. But Professor," Hermione insisted when she saw Lupin's head drop in frustration, "Harry wouldn't have left us. Not without saying--,"

"I believe you, Hermione," Lupin said holding up his hand. "Besides, I don't think Harry is capable of performing the magic we found at Privet Drive."

"What magic, Professor?" Hermione asked, her worry spiking again.

Before Lupin could answer, the sound of floo arrivals drowned out all the conversation in the room. Fred and George arrived first followed closely behind by Bill and Fleur. Arthur had called a family meeting to address the growing crisis, though Percy was still at the Ministry. Not one, but _two _Weasley sons were missing, hair-color be damned.

After everyone had been brought up to speed about what was going on, Lupin was finally able to continue: "The Dursleys are not simply missing," he explained slowly, his eyes searching everyone's faces, "they've been replaced."

"What?!?" Ron yelped. "What do you mean '_replaced_'?" His confusion matched everyone's.

"There's another family living there," Tonks explained, cutting off Remus. "And they sincerely believe they've been living at Number 4 Privet Drive since before Harry was even born. What's more, their neighbors suffer from the same delusion. None of them even remember the Dursleys…or Harry."

"What about Mrs. Figg?" Hermione quickly asked.

"She remembers them, alright," Remus supplied, "but she saw nothing last night. She slept through whatever happened during those eight hours when Charlie and Diggle were on watch."

"That's impossible!" Bill interjected; his pony-tail whipping as he shook his head vigorously. "Even if all the Ministry obliviators worked 24 hours straight it would still take _weeks_ to erase and replace _decades_ worth of memories in an entire neighborhood!"

"And it's not even just Privet Drive," Tonks said nodding her head to Bill. "I contacted Vernon Dursley's employer and Dudley's school," she said shaking her head. "Neither of them claims to have even heard the name 'Dursley' before."

"Something like this would take months of planning…," Fred said as he stared off into space, concentrating.

"…And a ton of manpower," George said, nodding his head in agreement.

"But why would anyone do such a thing?" Molly asked in utter confusion; some of her tears were now simply drying against her face. Ginny still clung to her, ignoring most of the conversation. All she needed to know was that Harry was missing. That was enough to break her.

"I think it's safe to assume it wasn't the Death Eaters," Remus said as he continued to scan through logbooks. "It's just not their style."

"And it wasn't the Ministry," Tonks asserted. "While the Minister would love to have Harry under lock and key inside his office; nobody has the manpower to pull this off right now, not with all the attacks. The obliviators are tasked enough as it is. Kingsley is at the Ministry now, in any case." She came up behind Remus and put a comforting hand on his back, letting him know that she was there.

"Per'aps a foreign ministry?" Fleur suggested.

"No," Arthur said shaking his head, "Scrimgeour would never allow it. The man's pride hardly knows bounds."

"_Cui bono_?" Hermione said more to herself as she began to pace back and forth; wringing her hands together. "Who benefits not only from Harry and the Dursleys going missing, but also from erasing any evidence that they ever even existed?" There was an intense look of concentration on her face.

"That's hardly true, though," argued Fred. "I mean, we all still remember them. Merlin, I'll bet you can't find a single witch or wizard in Britain that doesn't know about Harry Potter."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks as she spun around to stair at Fred with wide eyes. "That's it! My God, Fred, _that's it_!"

"_What's_ it? What are you _talking_ about?" Ron interrupted. Everyone else looked confused as well.

"The mass oblviation!" Hermione explained as if it was obvious. "It wasn't done for _our_ benefit! It doesn't affect us! It was done for the _mug_--,"

In a case of perfect timing, Hermione was interrupted by the faint sound of two car horn blasts from outside the Burrow. At once everyone seemed to freeze in place. Ginny's eyes snapped open; now aware something very different was happening.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked breathlessly.

Bill moved quickly to the window in the front of the living room. Pulling back the curtain, he gave a small gasp of surprise. "Merlin," he said aloud, "they can _see _us!"

Arthur went to join his son and looked outside. Up the front path to the house, just next to the old oak tree that marked the edge of the wards, sat four Land Rovers parked abreast of each other at varying angles. Next to the vehicles stood about a dozen men, some milling about, others intensely focused on the Burrow itself. One in particular stood in the very center of the path, his arms held behind his back as if he were waiting. When he saw Arthur's head in the window, the man gave a small wave of his hand.

Arthur Weasley's face went very pale but his heart rate accelerated fantastically. He felt the adrenalin rush in his arms and legs. He knew these men were not Death Eaters, but he also had no clue as to who they were or what they wanted. Judging from the events of that morning, however, Arthur could only assume it was not good.

"Bill, Remus, Tonks," Arthur said as he turned and looked at each of them, "come with me. The rest of you stay inside." Arthur already had his wand out as he headed to the front door.

"I'm going with you!" Ron immediately demanded as he, too, gripped his wand. Hermione absent-mindedly grabbed his other hand.

"So are we!" Fred and George rejoined at the same time. Fleur also immediately moved to Bill's side.

Arthur sighed in frustration but nodded his head. "Fine, but stay behind the rest of us and keep inside the wards, understand?!?" Arthur's eyes were fiery and insistent. Once Bill, Remus, and Tonks had joined him at the door, Arthur opened it and slowly walked outside, the others following.

Ginny, just seeming to notice just exactly what was happening, suddenly felt the adrenalin coursing through her veins. She quickly jumped for her seat at the table and ran after the rest of them, ignoring her mother's cries from behind her.

As the Weasley family and company made their way up the path towards the old oak tree, the man ahead of them waved again. "Good morning, Weasleys," he said with a smile.

It was an overcast and gray day with clouds that threatened rain, so it was difficult for Arthur to recognize any of the men standing at the edge of his property just yet, but he was sure he had never heard the man's voice before. "Good morning," he said in reply, his tone neutral as they continued to close the distance between them.

Some of the other men standing around the SUVs began to shift a little, moving out to the sides. "I was hoping we could keep wands away for the time being," the man spoke again, his tone light and congenial. "After all, we are all friends here." He cocked his head to the side; "At least I hope we can _become_ friends."

"I suppose that depends," Arthur calmly replied as he and the others shifted their wands out of sight but not necessarily away, "what brings you and your friends to the Burrow this morning?" The group stopped just a few yards away. Ron and Hermione ignored Arthur's earlier instructions and took stances next to Remus and Tonks.

The man—tall and thin with gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a gray, tailored suit—chuckled slightly as he leaned his head forward. "_Oh_," he said amusedly, "I trust you already know why we are here."

"_Where is Harry_?" Hermione suddenly demanded, her fists clenched to her sides; her wand tucked up her sleeve.

The man's eyes drifted over to Hermione as his eyebrows arched sympathetically. He leaned his head to the side as he said, "I hope you will understand my reluctance to tell you."

"Who are you?" Remus challenged suspiciously.

The man's smile returned with a flourish: "My name is Paul Jenkins; I'm with the Prime Minster's office. I would offer you a handshake Mr. Lupin but," he gestured with his hand to the invisible barrier that separated them, "you know."

"The Prime Minister's office?" Tonks questioned; her tone perplexed.

"Indeed, Auror Tonks." A younger man to the left of Jenkins chuckled slightly at the word "_auror_". "I've been appointed Special Representative to oversee the Ministry of Magic throughout the remainder of the current crisis." The smile was more of a smirk at this point.

"_What_?!?" Arthur recoiled incredulously. "That's impossible! Scrimgeour—the Wizengamot--,"

"Ah," Jenkins interrupted, "I see you haven't read the morning news." Jenkins looked away and forced a sigh of fake reluctance: "I'm _afraid_ the Prime Minister has invoked the emergency powers of his office and has suspended Minister Scrimgeour, the Wizengamot," a very wicked smirk turned the corner of Jenkins lips, "and the writ of _habeus corpus_ indefinitely." Jenkins drew himself up and raised his head: "As of today, Wizarding Britain is officially under martial law."

"Just who in the hell are you people?!?" Bill demanded, clearly upset.

"Oh," Jenkins gave a quick look over his shoulder as he heard some of his men chuckle and snigger, "I'm afraid our work is quite…_unspeakable_."

Ron, being the hot-head that he was, drew his wand and pointed it at Jenkins. The men with Jenkins didn't startle or react immediately, but a few did shift their stances as they revealed the staffs they had concealed behind their arms and legs, twirling them in their hands. The doors of one of the Land Rovers off to the right popped open ever so slightly, and Hermione could have sworn she saw a flash of a rifle butt in the shadows. She immediately tried to pull Ron's arm down but he shook her away.

"_What have you done with Harry_?!?" Ron's arm shook precariously.

Jenkins merely held his hands up in a sign of surrender. "I can assure you, Mr. Weasley, that we have visited no harm whatsoever upon your friend and that he came with us of his own free will." He was still smiling; it was obvious he didn't feel threatened in the least.

"_That's a lie_!" Ron insisted, thrusting his arm; ignoring a command from his father to lower his wand.

A sickening feeling was spreading in Ginny's stomach as she took everything in. She wasn't afraid Jenkins was lying, she was afraid he was telling the truth.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Weasley," Jenkins continued, his eyebrows arched again sympathetically. "In fact, the purpose of our visit here today was to assure you all that Mr. Potter is in good health and free of duress." He turned and beckoned to a few men next to one of the Land Rovers to his left. "And of course, to return your people to you," Jenkins said with a smile.

The men opened the back doors of the SUV to reveal Charlie and Daedalus Diggle, both grinning from ear to ear. "Hey guys!" Charlie called out to them with a wave. "Is mom cooking breakfast? I'm starved!" Diggle was staring at a bush off to the side with a goofy expression on his face. He started walking towards it before one of the men took him by the arm and began leading him back towards the oak tree.

"What have you done to them?" Tonks asked, concerned.

"I assure they'll be quite alright; confused for a little while longer, but quite alright," Jenkins asserted with a smile. He turned and nodded to another man who moved to open the cargo hatch of the SUV closest to them. "Is Ginerva Weasley here?" Jenkins asked looking through the group. "Harry asked that we give this to her."

From the back of the Land Rover, the man emerged carrying a cage with a very familiar snowy white owl inside. Hedwig chirped at the sight of the familiar faces. The man carrying his cage presented it to Charlie along with a stack of envelopes. Charlie accepted them with a smile before he went straight over the ward-line towards Ginny.

"Here Ginny!" Charlie said excitedly. "I think Harry wants you to take care of her," Charlie's eyes looked glazed over and unfocused.

Ginny was hardly breathing at this point. She took the cage from Charlie with a trembling hand. She had always loved Harry's owl, but now she couldn't help but feel a twinge of contempt for the creature. She looked at Hedwig for what she was: a going-away present.

Charlie started to walk away. "Oh!" he exclaimed as he realized he was still holding the envelopes. "This is for you, too," he said as he handed Ginny a letter with her name printed on he front. Charlie then walked away and handed two identical envelopes to Ron and Hermione, though the one in Ron's hand seemed thicker.

"Please forgive the brevity of Mr. Potter's missives," Jenkins said sadly. "I'm afraid we were in quite a rush."

Ron tore his open first:

_Don't look for me. Take care of your sister. Tell your family I love them._

Included with the note was the Marauder's Map, folded up tightly. Ron crushed the envelope in his hand; his face beet red.

Hermione opened hers next:

_Take care of Ron._

Hermione folded it back up quickly before Ron could read it, wiping tears out of her eyes. She recognized Harry's hand-writing easily. He had left them.

Ginny very slowly opened hers:

_I'm sorry. Don't wait for me._

She gave a gut-wrenching sob before she dropped Hedwig's cage and stormed away; half-walking, half-running. Bill, who had always been Ginny's closest brother, called out to her and ran after her, Fleur in tow.

"Well," Jenkins said clasping his hands together, "I apologize for the dramatics. I'm afraid Harry insisted. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day and take solace in the knowledge that Harry could not be in a safer place." He turned and nodded to others who began filing back into the SUVs. The wind was picking up, and it blew their jackets and coats in the breeze.

"You know we'll look for him," Remus said, his voice harsh and angry.

"You'll try," Jenkins said over his shoulder. "Oh," he stopped suddenly and turned, "in regards to your little," he made a gesture with his hand, "'vigilante' group, might I suggest you concentrate on defending your homes and loved ones," he said as the engines of the SUVs roared to life. "We'll take care of the rest." There was a gleam in his eyes as he turned and climbed into the passenger seat.

Ginny kept her hand firmly clasped over her mouth to prevent further sobbing. She walked with determination, trying to will the pain out of her chest. Harry had left them, all of them. He had rejected them. Their love, their acceptance; he had walked away from all of it to fulfill his destiny, to complete Dumbledore's mission. There was nothing left of "Just Harry" anymore. There was only the "Chosen One" now; a purpose without identity.

Ginny's legs gave out and she fell to the ground. The pain was fading as a new feeling poured through her veins like a drug. She realized for the first time that she hated this Harry. This pathetically stupid lackey who did whatever people told him to do out of some false sense of nobility or duty. She had admired him, even felt sorry for him. Now it just disgusted her. This Harry was a tool to be manipulated and used by others. There was nothing worth loving in that.

"Are you okay, Ginny?" Bill asked with great sympathy when he reached her.

Ginny was breathing heavily; her eyes closed. She seemed to wince before her eyes flew open and she stood tall.

She sniffed once before she nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine."*

* * *

July 8, 2008

Harry didn't jump when he heard the knock on McGonagall's door, he was expecting it. He did, however, close his eyes as he took a deep breath; steeling himself for what was to come.

McGonagall, however, was surprised by the new visitor. She had never perfected Dumbledore's ability to sense guests coming up the spiral staircase. "Come in!" she called out.

As soon as the door opened, Harry winced ever so slightly. '_Jesus, woman!_' he thought to himself. '_Turn the volume down!_'

"I finished those syllabi you request—oh!" Hermione jumped when she saw the other two visitors in the Headmistress' office. "I'm sorry, Headmistress, I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

'_Oh, God! Why did I have to bring these up now?!? Merlin, she's probably furious with me! Who turns in paperwork this late at night, anyway?!? What were you thinking, Hermione?!?'_

If there was a telepathic equivalent to earplugs, Harry would have shoved them into his mind with gusto. As such he had to concentrate on reigning in his focus; bringing himself back into the real world as it were. Still, it was pretty hard not to listen when someone is practically shouting in your head.

"Not at all, Professor Granger, not at all!" McGonagall exclaimed with delight. She was suddenly ecstatic to have Hermione there. "Please come in! I--," and just as it came, that excitement quickly dissipated as Minerva suddenly found herself overcome with a profound sense of confusion. '_Wait, why should Hermione be here?_' she asked herself.

Snape couldn't help but smirk and shake his head slightly. Harry's abilities were certainly impressive to say the least.

Causing McGonagall's mind to drift was easy enough. The thing that bothered Harry in that moment was the name "Granger". He knew she wasn't married, but it still made something twitch inside of him; almost as if it just didn't sound right.

"I promise I'll only be a moment," Hermione said as she strode toward McGonagall's desk. She stopped dead in her tracks though when she saw Severus. "Professor Snape!" she exclaimed.

Snape's smirk faded as he stood and bowed ever so slightly: "Miss Granger," he said in his all-too-familiar intonation.

'_Of course he wouldn't address me as 'Professor'!_' Hermione thought angrily. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"I had heard a rumor that you might be coming back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, trying to be polite even though she was bristling on the inside. "It will be nice to see a familiar face around here," she lied easily.

Snape sneered slightly: "I look forward to seeing what progress Horace made with your Gryffindors." Snape could never miss-up a chance to jibe the Gryffindor Head of House.

Harry suddenly felt Hermione beginning to panic. '_Oh God! Snape will know! He'll figure it out! God, Slughorn was easy enough to fool, but Snape will know what's missing from the stores!_'

This piqued Harry's interest, so he decided to delve a little further. His eyes fluttered closed and he began to see the images behind Hermione's thoughts. He saw the potions vials and he felt the sense of shame before his eyes snapped open. He looked at Hermione and he saw the bags under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she held the pile of parchment.

'_Christ,_' Harry thought to himself, '_she's got both barrels._'

Hermione was addicted to dreamless sleep draught and pepper-up potion; downers and uppers—a double-barreled addiction. Harry felt like he was going to be sick.

"Well," Hermione said pushing away her thoughts, "I trust you'll have them ready for their N.E. in no time." She feigned a smile before looking over at the other guest. "Hello," she said, trying to get his attention.

For a split second, McGonagall wanted to stand up and scream; to jump up and down and shout "IT'S HARRY! IT'S HARRY!" but her mind wandered again. '_What was I supposed to do with these papers?_' she thought as she looked down at her desk.

Harry swallowed heavily, smirked, and shook his head. He lifted it and stared back into the eyes of his one-time friend. "Hello," he responded simply. He heard Hermione's thoughts on the state of his dress and resisted rolling his eyes in frustration.

"Are you applying for a position as well?" Hermione asked politely; her smile genuine and her eyes curious.

Harry breathed heavily through his nose before he nodded towards McGonagall: "We were just working that out, actually." His smile did not go to his eyes.

"Well," Hermione's smile grew a little wider, "I should warn you that there's a curse on the Defense position. We never seem to keep anyone for very long."

Harry felt a lump in the back of his throat. This all felt so wrong. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, keeping his false smile plastered on his face.

For a brief moment Severus found himself tempted to drop the bomb; to shout out as Minerva wanted to. But as soon as the temptation came, Snape found himself swept away in a river of confusion. '_What was the name of that other Gryffindor? The one that blew up everything? Irish I think…_'

"Well," Hermione said as she smiled again and looked away nervously, "it was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you, too," Harry lied easily.

Harry decided he would have to have Mike burn Hermione's simultaneous thoughts of '_He's cute!_' and '_He's too old for me!_' out of his head later.

She passed her paperwork to McGonagall and turned to leave. As she was nearing the door, Minerva suddenly stood up: "Professor Granger!" she nearly shouted in desperation.

Hermione turned around, startled. "Yes, Headmistress?"

But it was already too late. Minerva couldn't stop wondering how Dumbledore always knew who was coming up the stairs. "Nothing, Professor," she said looking perplexed.

Hermione, looking confused herself, simply nodded and left; never questioning just who exactly the man in the suit with graying hair really was.

As soon as she was gone, McGonagall's sense returned to her. She turned to Harry, a profound look of shock on her face. "Mr. Potter?!?"

"If it's alright with you, Headmistress," Harry said as he looked down and brushed some ash off his pant-leg, "I would prefer that the news of my appointment be kept confidential until the beginning of the school year." His face betrayed nothing, a calm passivity.

Snape couldn't help but shake his head—if not in admiration then in a genuine sense of respect. Harry was powerful, and like all those with power he used it to serve his own ends. He dictated terms, her controlled events—hell, he could direct people's thoughts. '_The world is what you make of it_' the saying goes; Snape decided Harry was doing a pretty good job.

"Headmistress?" Harry said catching McGonagall's attention which had wandered out of shock. "The paperwork?" he asked gesturing at the forms in front of her.

Minerva was still trying to put all the pieces back together. Having "THE Harry Potter" in her office was one thing, having someone as powerful and manipulative as Harry controlling her thoughts was quite another. It was as if in that moment—when Harry had invaded her mind—that the storybook had ended and the music stopped. She had a feeling that no one was going to enjoy Harry's homecoming, at least not initially.

Still, she was determined to see this through. The Wizarding World needed its hero; as ill-prepared for him as they might be. It would be rough at first and plenty of arguments, apologies, reconciliations, and catastrophes would ensue; but Minerva reasoned all of that was so much better than not knowing; so much better than the endless speculation and barrage of theories. Harry could have had horns growing out of his forehead, and she still would have signed.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said as she reached for her quill, "welcome back to Hogwarts."

'_It's a shame _"Faust"_ isn't more popular in wizarding circles_,' Harry thought to himself; the corner of his lips turning.

The Gringott's checks were first, both disappearing in a flash of orange flame after McGonagall endorsed them; the trolleys of the banking goblins would already be moving in between the vaults now. Once that was done, Harry signed his contract as did McGonagall; officially installing Harry Potter as Hogwart's new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"I'll have my syllabi and other materials to you by the end of next week. One of my assistants will contact you in regards to the security inspection and upgrades," Harry said as he snapped shut the flap of his leather brief case. He stood and offered a hand to McGonagall. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Headmistress."

McGonagall stood as well and took Harry's hand in hers: "Likewise, Mr. Potter…" she responded, nearly breathless.

Harry turned towards the fireplace and walked briskly. It was clear he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. There wasn't a moment in that office that he relaxed; that he let his guard down. He was wound up tighter than a knot, and he needed to release.

Alas, it was not meant to be…

Before he could reach the escape of the floo, Harry's brisk walk was interrupted by a simple question.

"Will you not even look at me, Harry?" the portrait of Albus Dumbledore asked; his eyes filled with genuine confusion and a hint of pain.

If Harry was stiff before, he was positively stone now. He froze in place; his breathing stopped and his knuckles cracked from the strain of his fists. If he clenched his jaw any tighter, his teeth were liable to snap into pieces. The sounds of the room seemed to fall away only to be replaced by a low whistle in his ears; like white noise. Out of everything he had dreaded in anticipation of this meeting; _this_ was what he had dreaded the most.

Snape sat bolt upright. He wasn't sure what Harry was going to do, but something inside of him screamed that he should be ready for anything. McGonagall just looked on; hopeful that something would come from their exchange.

Harry finally moved; he very slowly and deliberately turned to face Dumbledore's portrait, his eyes still lowered. Finally, when he was fully facing his former Headmaster, mentor, and guardian; Harry picked up his head and looked directly into his eyes.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore gasped and recoiled in shocked horror.

Harry stood still; his face defiant and his stance unwavering.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore exclaimed softly as a wave of misery seemed to descend on him. "What have you done? _What have you done_?" he whispered more to himself.

Harry's expression did not change.

Dumbledore's portrait lowered and shook his head slowly; his grief and desolation more than evident. He picked his head back up, and with a voice full of anguish asked, "_Why, Harry_?"

"Because you lacked the strength," Harry responded immediately, his voice only trembling slightly from the flow of adrenalin in his blood. He turned quickly and marched to the fireplace; the roar of green flame signaling is departure.

McGonagall was out of her chair and in front of Dumbledore's portrait in a flash. "Albus! What is it? What's wrong?" she asked; her worry evident.

The eyes of the portrait found Severus who refused to look up; his head held in shame. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this…" the portrait said as he shook his head in sadness.

"Albus?" McGonagall asked again, becoming more insistent.

The portrait looked up and forced a smile. "While I am glad to see Harry in good health, Minerva," he said looking into the eyes of his long-time friend, "I fear it was a mistake to make him a professor." His expression showed nothing but disappointment.

"Why?" Minerva asked out of shock.

Albus shook his head slowly before he said, "Because I would not trust him with the children."

* * *

Mike was just starting to read Declan Moffitt's essay "_Harry Potter: A Phoenix Animagus?_" when he saw Harry approaching the Range Rover out of the corner of his eye. He opened the rear passenger door first and threw his briefcase in the back before he jumped in the front seat, ripping his tie off as he did so.

"Sooo," Mike said closing his book, "how did it go?" he asked with a ridiculous smile.

"We're in," Harry said simply, retrieving his cell phones and turning them back on. He checked his messages for anything critical.

"You see?" Mike asked as he slapped Harry on the shoulder; his smile wider. "And you were nervous."

Harry quickly scanned through an e-mail from one of his site managers for Blackstone Construction. Apparently there was an accident at the new quidditch stadium they were building outside Wellington and a worker troll and his two goblin handlers were killed. '_Oh well_,' Harry thought to himself, '_at least they weren't human. We have enough problems with our bond company as it is_…'

"Contact our people in Dubai," he said absentmindedly as he continued to read through his messages. "Tell them to convert over some of our assets into gold and to ship it up here. We're going to need it if we intend to maintain any kind of liquidity in Wizarding Britain after what I just dropped on this project."

"The plane is already on the tarmac in Sharjah. You know, I'm a very good assistant," Mike said; his smile unwavering.

Harry gave him a look. "How much did you transfer?"

"I don't know," Mike said throwing his hand up. "There were a lot of zeroes," he said as he playfully made a show of counting on his fingers.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head before returning his attention back to his Blackberry. Most of the messages were mundane: cost overruns at various job sites, equipment malfunctions at one of their mines, maintenance reports on their cargo aircraft, estimated crop yields from their farms in Brazil, performance evaluations from their team in Kinshasha, etc. His fingers stopped when he noticed one of his missed calls and he saw Mike wince beside him.

"Toby called?" he asked stoically.

"Yeeeaaahhh…" Mike responded slowly, his face in a grimace.

"And what did he want?" He had asked the question, but it was obvious Harry already knew the answer. The air in the car was getting warmer.

"She was with _him_ again…" Mike looked like he was ready for Harry to explode.

Harry sat completely still for a moment; a living statue. It would've been hard for someone to determine if he was still alive. As quickly as the statue came, however, it quickly dissipated as Harry's fingers began dancing over his Blackberry again. "That's fine," he said dismissively.

Mike gave a frustrated sigh as his shoulders dropped. "That's great, Harry, keep all that bottled up. That'll work out real well in the end," he said rolling his eyes.

"What would you have me do, Mike?" Harry asked unconcerned, his attention still on his e-mails.

"_Shoot him_!" Mike shouted as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Fuck, I'll do it! I'll drop you at the pub, _kill him_, and I'll be back in time for you to buy me a drink for my trouble! That's kind of—like—_what we do_, you know?" he said giving Harry a look.

"She has the right to decide for herself," Harry said; his face impassive.

"_Bullshit_!" Mike shouted out the sunroof. "She's a _fucking_ idiot! If we let every _dumbass_ witch and wizard actually make their own decisions, we'd all be fucking snake-food by now! I mean, for fuck's sake, Harry, why in the hell do we have her under 24-hour protective surveillance if we're not going to protect her from herself! Did we forget about the diary--,"

"Leave it alone, Mike," Harry interrupted; his anger evident.

"Harry--,"

"I SAID LEAVE IT ALONE!" Harry roared.

Mike's hands jerked up in surrender. "Alright, alright," he said as he turned away and spoke under his breath, "keep suppressing that shit for all I care. It's not like _I'm_ the one that has to clean up the mess in the end," he said sarcastically.

Harry huffed harshly: "You really want me to do something about it?"

"YES!" Mike shouted. "HELLFIRE! BRIMSTONE! LET'S LAY WASTE TO THE MOTHERFUCKER!" He held up his left hand for a high-five.

Harry just glared and put his Blackberry away. To Mike's surprise, however, he simply took out his obsidian mirror instead.

Mike just looked confused. "Or we could do that…" he said as he lowered his hand.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stood at the window of his office looking out over his pride and joy: the casino floor of New Atlantis, the finest wizarding resort in the world.

Rising out of the English Channel, surrounded by wards that prevented it from being observed by muggles, New Atlantis lived up to its name: beautiful sandy beaches that always seemed to be in the sun, hundreds of shops, pubs, and restaurants catering to only the most exquisite tastes; a massive quidditch stadium that had hosted the World Cup for the past three years running (despite the objections of many gaming and sports ministers); a 36-hole golf course for the muggle-borns; plenty of pools, saunas, and natural springs; and a towering, pearly-white hotel and casino—where every vice, desire, hunger, or thirst could be quenched for a price. The entire island formed the track for the now infamous New Atlantis Winged-Horse & Broom Races; the racing being observed from specially designed rooms inside the tower.

New Atlantis was the culmination of Lucius' greatest vision. He had been prosperous enough with the cavernous underground casino his family had built centuries ago beneath London, but the environment had been too dark and stifling; catering only to wealthy purebloods with a taste for the darker side of magic and life. New Atlantis was the type of place where even _muggle-borns_ brought their families.

They arrived everyday by the thousands; many by portkey if they were lucky (or if they had the money to grease the right wheels), but most by ferry from England or France, by the massive air-cruise ships that always seemed to hover over the island, or by the _Lady Luck_: a luxorious, fully-rigged sailing ship that could cruise underwater. Day after day, hour after hour they arrived; each with their eyes wide and money burning holes in their pockets.

Malfoy let his eyes scan the floor: trays of drinks floated through the crowds—the house elves guiding them invisible—as goblins manned all the tables and monitored the enchanted machines—easily adept at spotting cheats and thieves. Most of the older witches and wizards manned the slots; dropping thousands in sickles and galleons. The tables hosted the various card and dice games where most of the real money was made. It was easy for Lucius to spot the veelas in the room; always hanging on the edges of the bars or stuck to a craps player too mesmerized to remember which way to throw the dice. He had thought about having them banned since they took home almost as much money as the house did, but thought better of it when he realized they quickly spent much of their spoils on jewelry, shoes, or the various designer dresses and robes offered by the shops both in and outside the casino. In the back sat the dozen sports betting pools. Set up like miniature stadiums, each pool sat roughly a hundred people who could watch their favorite sports teams (quidditch, quodpot, aingingein, football, etc.) play from around the world reflected in the crystal-like surface in the center. And that was just this floor.

Lucius noted that the casino was packed a little tighter than usual. He had expected this considering the championship wizards' duel being hosted later that night as well as the performance of Myron Wagtail, former lead singer of the Weird Sisters. Malfoy could only thank Merlin that Gringotts had finally decided to start printing promissory notes; otherwise the weight of all that gold would have brought the whole building crashing down. Life was good for Lucius Malfoy, life was very good.

He felt the itch again in his left arm and unconsciously went to scratch it, his fingers thudding against the wood where his forearm should have been. A familiar pain made Lucius cringe and close his eyes. Life could've been a little better.

"Master Lucius," came the ethereal voice from the disembodied, white face in the center of the massive obsidian mirror hanging against the center of the far wall, "you have a scry-call, sir."

Lucius nodded and tapped his wand against the glass causing curtains to slide into place; the only light in the room now coming from the colossal stone fireplace. Lucius took a seat behind his desk as he nodded toward the mirror: "Yes?"

The white face and the blackness of the obsidian faded away as a face filled the expanse; a face Lucius was all too familiar with. "Hello, Lucius," Harry said in greeting, "it's been too long." His voice was cold and his eyes hard.

Malfoy resisted the urge to kneel as his heart rate spiked. "M-Mr. Potter!" he said stunned. "I apologize, I wasn't expecting a call," he desperately tried to remember if this had been scheduled or not.

"Think nothing of it, Lucius. I trust our business is doing well?" Harry asked with a smirk.

A flame stirred within Malfoy. He hated being reminded that the Black Group owned New Atlantis. Even though Lucius was a member, he knew full well Harry dictated terms. "You'll be delighted to know that our profits are up, Mr. Potter," he said forcing a smile.

"Excellent!" Harry exclaimed with false enthusiasm. "You continue to prove the merit of my decision to leave New Atlantis in your _hands_."

Malfoy's right hand fisted so tightly his knuckles cracked. He wanted to smash the obsidian into a thousand pieces. He could've sworn he heard a muffled giggle come from Harry's right.

"I look forward to visiting soon…"

Whatever rage Malfoy felt before quickly evaporated into shock. "Mr. Potter?" he asked breathlessly.

"You heard me correctly, Lucius. My self-enforced exile from Wizarding Britain will soon be at an end." Harry's eyes narrowed: "I trust you _know_ what that means."

Lucius could only nod his head as his mouth went dry. Former Death Eaters, pureblood racists, and the Seekers were going to be coming out of the woodwork; men and women Malfoy had helped scurry away into the dark recesses of the world with his financial clout and network of corruption following the war. Potter had known this, and so did whatever organization he worked for. They accepted it because they expected Lucius to point each and every one of them out when the time came. The former servants of the Dark Lord still trusted Lucius because they believed he had led them to safety. In reality, he had simply put the cheese in the mousetrap.

"My return also does not, in any way, change the conditions of your oath, is that understood?" Potter said authoritatively.

"Of course, sir," Lucius responded meekly.

"Very well," Harry's expression shifted. "There's another matter I wish to discuss with you, this one concerning that son of yours."

His fatherly instincts were allowing some of Malfoy's spine to grow back. "What about him, Potter?" he asked defensively.

Harry ignored Malfoy's tone. "I have been informed that he his sleeping with members of the staff at our London casino." Harry's voice was hard: "I trust you can understand the type of scandal this information would cause if it got out, not to mention the damage to his marriage."

'_Oh, Draco_,' Lucius thought despondently as he closed his eyes briefly, '_what were you thinking?_' Lucius sighed before he nodded: "I will see to it that nothing like this happens again, Mr. Potter."

"I trust you will, but in order to help young Draco resist the temptation, I want you to have him fire the object of his infidelity. Be sure to instruct him to give the girl an _incredibly_ generous severance package. You can take it out of Draco's salary." Harry's tone was callous and cold.

Lucius suddenly had a very bad feeling. "The name of the girl, sir?"

"Ginerva Weasley." There was a flash in Harry's eyes that caused a shiver to run up Malfoy's spine.

'_Draco, you FOOL!_' Malfoy screamed in his head as he regarded Harry's face in the mirror. The familiar itch returned with vigor as Malfoy winced again.

"It will be d-done immediately, sir," Malfoy said shakily.

"See that it is."

Just as the mirror appeared to be dimming, a thought flashed though Malfoy's mind; a peace offering. "Mr. Potter!" he shouted unnecessarily.

"Something else you wised to discuss, Lucius?" Harry asked; his tone unkind.

"It's about your friend…Ron Weasley…" Malfoy was attempting to be delicate.

Harry's eyes, if possible, grew even colder. "We had an understanding concerning him, Lucius."

"I know that, sir, and believe me when I say that we have bent over backwards trying to accommodate Mr. Weasley and his…excesses. However, he's lost a significant amount in the quidditch pools and…I've been hearing rumors…"

'_Goddamnit, Ron_,' Harry thought to himself as he looked away from the mirror. He had known about Ron's gambling and drinking problems for some time now. He had made quite the mess at the casino on more than a few occasions. Thanks to Harry's influence, the goblins learned to always make sure Ron walked away a winner, and there was always a veela ready to take him upstairs when he had finished one too many at the bar. But Ron invariably took his trade elsewhere, getting himself into more and more trouble.

"How much is he down?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Around five thousand galleons," Malfoy responded with a cringe.

Harry heard Mike splutter next to him, but he ignored it. "And how exactly did you let him get so deep?"

"Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I can't control the outcomes of a quidditch match," Malfoy said with a small smirk.

"Can't you?" asked skeptically.

Malfoy felt the hairs of the back of his neck stand up, but he remained silent.

Harry sighed. '_Fucking "Cannons"_' he thought to himself. '_I dropped a fortune on that goddamn team and they still can't win shit._' He looked back to Lucius: "Comp him. I'll cover it. What about these rumors?"

"Well, Mr. Potter," Malfoy began hesitantly, "as I'm sure you're aware, we are not the only people in Britain that take bets on quidditch matches; and unlike us, these bookies offer lines of credit…" He didn't think he needed to say more.

'_Damnit, Ron_,' Harry mused. Ron was always trying for the big score; always trying to win bigger and better. Harry knew that Ron's issues of jealousy and self-esteem were at its core, but he hated it nevertheless. He really wished he could just punch him in the face and get him to snap out of it. Still, he was Ron…

"Lucius," he began slowly, "these bookies—they are competition, no?" Harry's emotionless mask was back in full force.

"Technically I suppose we could call them minor competition, yes," Malfoy responded, not sure Harry was going with this.

"So, if they were to…_go away_, we would all be better off, correct?"

Malfoy knew exactly what Harry was talking about now. "I'll see that it's done…_sir_." He had nearly said "my lord".

"Thank you, Lucius. I appreciate you assistance in this--," Harry was interrupted by someone Lucius couldn't see.

"_Gimme the mirror!_" Lucius heard a voice whisper excitedly. "_Come on! Just for a second!_" Harry was whispering back and glaring.

Finally, the view of Lucius' mirror was obscured for a moment as Harry appeared to be struggling with someone. The view cleared again and Lucius found himself staring up into the grinning face of a man he recognized, but he couldn't remember his name.

"Hey Malfoy!" Mike said excitedly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the bang-up job you're doing over there!" Lucius could hear Harry demanding the mirror back. "In fact, you're doing such a good job I think you should _give yourself a hand_!" He laughed uproariously. "_Get it?!?! GIVE YOURSELF A HAND!_" Mike laughed harder as he finally returned the mirror to Harry.

"Remember what we discussed, Lucius," Harry said quickly before the blackness of obsidian returned, bathing Malfoy in light of the fire again.

Slowly, Malfoy removed the black leather glove from the enchanted wooden prosthetic attached to his left arm. He gripped it into a fist as he felt the itch again; the itch from an arm that was no longer there.

He cried out in rage as he slammed the wooden fist against his desk; the fingers splintering into pieces.

* * *

Mike was still laughing when Harry finally put his mirror away. "Oh man," he said holding his stomach, "is fucking with that guy _ever_ going to get old?"

Harry just glared at him as he opened the glove compartment, looking for an old pack of cigarettes.

"So," Mike said as his laughing finally stopped, "check out _Don Potter_ over here?"

"The world is going to be a far better place with a few less bookies in it," Harry said as he finally managed to find a pack of Marlboros under the clutter. He popped one in between his lips.

"I thought you quit," Mike observed with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, I heard that one, too," Harry said as he cupped his hands together in front of his face. Suddenly a flame sprang to life inside Harry's hands, floating in air. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. The flame disappeared.

"I don't know why you go out of your way for this guy," Mike said shaking his head. "He's a degenerate gambling drunk. He's going to get worse before he gets better if you keep bailing him out like this."

"I owe him," Harry said as he blew out his smoke.

Mike scoffed and shook his head. "No offense, Harry, but you don't owe these people _shit_! I mean, for Christ's sake, you walk around your whole life feeling guilty for God's knows what, while all these people get to keep on breathing because of what you did!—_what you're doing_!" He looked at Harry to see if any of it was sinking in. "It's not like we did anything wrong, you know. Hell, Harry, they owe you everything!"

"Yeah, Mike, what about Portsmouth?" Harry asked, staring off into space; breathing out the smoke through his nose. "Or Neville?" He turned to look at Mike.

Mike seemed to think about it for a second before he simply shrugged his shoulders. "Shit happens."

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Just take me to the pub already," he said before taking another long drag on his Marlboro.

"I thought you didn't drink?" Mike asked with a smile.

"I don't," Harry responded immediately.

Mike just laughed as he took the keys out of his jacket. After he turned the key in the ignition; the speakers immediately began blasting the first few chords of Jimi Hendrix playing "Voodoo Child".

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over at him: "Seriously?"

Mike had his eyes closed, playing air guitar.

Harry shook his head with a smile. "Just turn it up, asshole…"

"_Yeeeaaahhh_!!!" Mike shouted as he cranked the radio and put his foot down.

* * *

A/N: You really have to listen to "Voodoo Child" right now to get the full effect.

Okay, so obviously I've been putting a little more time into this story as of late than TDK; I'm hoping to change that.

Action will pick up a lot in following chapters as well as revelations and confrontations. Also, a lot of questions will be answered.

Reviews always loved and appreciated.

*Kudos to anyone who recognized this as Harry's dialogue in the prologue.


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